


Fire is Her Water (Shok Ebasit Hissra)

by AutopsyTurvy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftercare, Alcohol, BDSM, BDSM and Giggles, BDSM and Snacks, Bad Puns, Ballroom Dancing, Betrayal, Biting, Blood, Blood Kink, Bruises, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Development, Child Death, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Dragons, Drug Use, Drunken Flirting, Enthusiastic Consent, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Improbable Swashbuckling, Knitting, Mutual Pining, PTSD, Religion, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Sharing a Bed, Size Difference, Swaffelen, Trust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-16 08:25:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 288,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4618413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutopsyTurvy/pseuds/AutopsyTurvy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melora Trevelyan always believed her magic a curse, resigned to a quiet, boring life as an imprisoned Circle mage. And for years, the Iron Bull found an uncomplicated purpose within the rigid order of the Qun. But when the sky rips apart and their paths intersect, they find both their lives full of dangers, choices, and desires beyond anything they ever expected. Melora trusts in the Maker and her friends when she must reluctantly lead the Inquisition in this fight for which she is completely unprepared. With Andraste's mark in her left hand and the Iron Bull at her right, the challenges they face and the bond they forge will change them both - but into <i>what?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Melora raised her face to the sky, staring into the storm, droplets falling toward her in dizzying patterns. Her hair stuck to her cheeks, rivulets streaming from her hair to her robes, soaked to the skin. Her body's heat and the clinging damp had warmed the old sweat and dried blood held deep in the padded fabric, simmering her in the smell of far too many fights since they'd left Haven two weeks earlier. The journey to the Storm Coast had been hard fought, but for the moment, they were all still in one piece.

The rain had started before dawn, weather shifting from mist to halfhearted drizzle in between torrential downpours. The black clouds above them seethed in an indecisive and sullen mood. Melora longed for a hot drink, a bath, and a clean change of clothes. But she knew that this day was not over, sighing as she stood on a rocky outcropping overlooking the beach.

Melora glanced behind her, at her companions who looked about as done with this shit as she was. Solas's pale face was impassive, but his thick wool cloak was drenched and he smelled like a wet sheep. Varric and Cassandra wore matching scowls, Cassandra's lips set in a thin line and Varric's eyebrows knotted with annoyance. "Should we go?" Melora asked, and Cassandra gave a curt nod.

Cassandra led the descent, with Melora close behind, Solas and Varric in the rear to watch their back. The group was silent then, as they often were on these long marches, each set of eyes alert for danger, the only sound their breathing and their movements across the landscape, dulled by the patter of falling rain and the roar of the waves.

It was slow going making it down to the beach. The loose, rocky soil gave way under their feet, threatening to send them tumbling down the hillside. With so many boulders, scattered branches, and gnarled, scrubby trees littering the approach, avoiding a fall was imperative, so in the steeper places, they were forced to sit and scoot down the hill, asses in the dirt.

Melora stayed close behind Cassandra, stepping where Cassandra had stepped, the dirt compacted and easier to traverse. She could hear Solas and Varric behind them… or rather, she could mostly hear Varric's muttered swearing.

When they finally reached the rocky beach, stepping over the bleached driftwood at the high tide line, Melora scuffed her hands against the bottom edge of her robes, skin sore from the sharp rocks and cold dirt. There was still grime caked thick under and around her fingernails, and she walked to the water and swished each hand in the brine, which at least took off most of the dirt. She shook the water from her fingertips, and looked down at her hands, trying not to look too closely at her left palm, at the gash across her skin through which seething green light flared and crackled. She curled her fingers into a fist, and looked out over the waves, a roil of grey crowned with white foam.

She followed Cassandra, her companions close behind, and they walked together up the beach in silence. It was difficult to read the ground here on this rocky beach beneath their feet, a carpet of mottled stones worn smooth from the relentless motion of the waves. Footsteps were hard to discern, and one couldn't read their freshness as on a beach of sand. Here and there, Melora's gaze would catch on something: a piece of wood that hadn't yet been whitened by the salt and sun, a plant clinging to the ground in the lee of the boulder, or…

Up ahead, a large, dark shape lay upon the beach at the waterline: a shipwreck. And nearby, she could just make out smaller shapes, moving across the beach. People. Then the sound came to her, over the rush of the waves: the clatter of steel against wood, the clang of a mace hitting plate armor, shouts… the unmistakable sound of battle.

Cassandra turned back, quirking an eyebrow. "I think this is the place," she said in her usual dry tone, and quickened her pace to a jog. Melora kept up as best as she could, the others right behind. It was impossible to go any faster, laden as they were with packs and armor, feet sinking into the pebbled beach.

As they approached, they shrugged off their packs and lay them aside next to a gnarled, bleached tangle of deadfall. Melora twisted her neck one way, then the other, readying herself, and they crouched low to watch. From here, they could see the battle. Tevinters, judging by their clothing, fighting a large group of… Melora wasn't quite sure. Bandits? Too well outfitted to be bandits. Mercenaries, then.

And in the center of the fray, Melora's saw a massive… ogre? No, but almost as large as an ogre. It was a qunari, and the biggest one she'd ever seen, a colossal mountain of a man. He had horns, as most qunari did, but unlike the qunari she had seen before, this one's horns were not small and backswept, but stretched out to either side almost as wide as his shoulders, upturned at the tips. He was nearly bare to the waist, wearing a leather pauldron over one shoulder, the rest of his thickly muscled torso exposed and shining silver in the rain. He wielded a massive axe, swinging it with practiced ease, and as Melora stared, he gave a shout, whirling, and knocked several Tevinters flat. Even from this distance, she could hear the sound of bones being crushed and the screams of agony.

Keeping low to the ground, Melora crept closer, ignoring Cassandra's hissed protest from behind her. She was close enough now to see the network of pale scars crisscrossing the qunari's skin, shifting atop huge muscles as he swung his axe. His craggy face was set in a resolute glare, one eye covered but the other shining bright as he felled another foe.

" _Maker's breath,_ " Melora whispered to herself in awe, just loud enough that Cassandra, scrambling along behind her, paused to stare in curious amusement.

The band of mercenaries seemed to have the battle well in hand, and there was a rhythm to the way they fought together, well-practiced steps punctuated with the crash of flashing steel. Melora dragged her eyes from the qunari, watching the others. They were almost as skilled, each in their own way, and the tide of the battle was clearly turned in their favour.

"Shouldn't we...?" Varric suggested, crouching behind a boulder, crossbow at the ready, his thick fingers idly stroking the polished wood.

"They seem to have it well in hand," Cassandra replied, and just as she said so, the last few Tevinters crumpled onto the rocky beach.

"I think we've found who we were looking for," Melora said, staring at the qunari, at the way his nostrils flared as he whipped his head around, looking for any more enemies to cut down.

"We should speak with their commander," Cassandra said.

"We?" Melora's voice was small.

"By we, I mean you.   _You_ should speak with their commander," Cassandra replied, and though she did not roll her eyes, her tone seemed to do it for her.

"Um… can you come with me?"

Cassandra made a disgusted noise but stood, extending an arm toward the bloodied beach. "After you," she said to Melora, and then she turned her head to address Varric and Solas. "You two stay here, but be on your guard. There are many bare blades about. If need be, you can cover our retreat back the way we came."

Melora waited, sticking close to Cassandra's side, picking their way around the fallen bodies and pools of blood.

The qunari surveyed the battlefield, eyeing the dead, and then he lowered his axe. "Chargers, stand down!"  His voice boomed over the beach, deep and rough. He held out a huge arm, gesturing to his people, and then he turned to speak to the closest of them, a dark haired young man in plate and chain armor.  Melora recognized him as the one she'd spoken to at Haven about this meeting. "Krem!  How'd we do?"

"Five or six wounded, chief.  No dead," Krem replied.

"That's what I like to hear.  Let the thoatcutters finish up, then break out the casks."  

Then, the qunari turned to Melora and Cassandra, striding toward them. His wide shoulders rolled loosely as he moved, almost a swagger. "So," he rumbled, addressing them with a crooked smile, "I'm guessing you're with the Inquisition. Glad you could make the party. Drinks are coming." He gestured toward the casks strewn along the beach, the wood rimed with seafoam.  His manner seemed more a charming host than someone who had just killed half a dozen men and still had their blood streaked across his chest.

"That was rather impressive," Cassandra said, glancing at the heaps of Tevinters laying on the beach. There seemed to be quite a lot of them. "You are the Iron Bull, are you not? We hear you are looking for work."

"I am," he nodded. "Not before my drink, though." He walked over to a boulder, lowering his massive bulk with surprising grace. He rested his forearms on his knees and raised one calloused palm toward his left. "I assume you remember Cremesius Aclassi, my lieutenant."

Melora glanced over, where Krem stood close by. She gave Krem a nod of polite acknowledgment.

"Good to see you again," Krem said to her, and then turned to the Iron Bull. "Throatcutters are done, chief."

"Already?" He shot Krem a doubtful look. "Have 'em check again. I don't want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away." Then he grinned, his thick lips twisted by a pale scar running from beneath the patch over his left eye to the corner of his mouth. "No offense, Krem."

Krem smirked back. "None taken. Least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you qunari, right?" Krem turned to walk away, speaking back over his shoulder, a cheeky tone in his voice and a spring in his step.

The Iron Bull snorted, but he was still smiling. He watched the work with the casks, and then rolled his shoulders in a shrug, changing his mind about business before drinks. He looked back at Melora and Cassandra and said, "So, you've seen us fight. We're expensive, but we're worth it, and I'm sure the Inquisition can afford us."

Melora gave a little nod and then looked down at her feet, shifting nervously on the gravel. Cassandra cleared her throat and nudged Melora's shoulder.

"I, um… ah…" Melora frowned, eyes darting, trying to figure out what an appropriate question would be to ask in this moment. "How much, exactly?"

"Wouldn't cost you anything personally, unless you wanna buy drinks later." He gave her that same fiendish, lopsided grin. "Your ambassador… what's her name? Josephine? We can go through her to get the payments set up. The gold will take care of itself. Don't you worry about that. All that matters is that we're worth it."

Melora raised her gaze from the ground to look around at the mercenaries on the beach. Some were patching up minor wounds, others cleaning the blood from their weapons. They seemed at ease here, despite the corpses. "They seem… um… nice?" she said, struggling to come up with a reasonable response.

The Iron Bull laughed, shaking his head. "Nice? I dunno about that, but they are a damn fine company." He made no attempt to conceal the pride in his voice. "But you're not just getting the boys. You're getting me. You need a frontline bodyguard, I'm your man, whatever it is. Demons, dragons? The bigger the better."

His voice went fierce and rough around the edges, just finished one fight and ready for the next. He grinned at Melora and then stood, and Melora looked up at him… and up, and up, having to crane her neck and step back just to look him in the face. He knew exactly how impressive he was, and wasn't afraid to loom over her to make his point clear to her, too.

He walked a little ways away and then turned to look down at her. "There is one other thing, though. Might be useful, might piss you off. Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?"

Melora squinted, thinking. She'd read everything she could get her hands on, and the library at the Ostwick Circle had quite a lot about the qunari, including one huge tome with all kinds of information. She'd spent many hours staring fascinated at the volume, filled with history and drawings. "I, um… maybe? It sounds familiar… They're like the city watch for the Qun?"

He gestured with his hands as he spoke, small waves of a palm or a shift in his stance, always in motion, the leather of his pauldron and boots creaking. Melora tried not to stare at the blood splattered across his chest, slowly running down beneath the upper edge of his wide leather belt. "I'd go closer to 'spies' but yeah, that's them." He paused a breath and added, "Or, well, _us_. The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I've been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what's happening." He spoke plainly, as relaxed as if he were telling her what he'd had for breakfast.

Melora stared up at him in blinking disbelief, lips parted, and watched him as he continued. "But, I also get reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I'll share them with your people."

Melora shook her head a little and said, "You're a spy for the Qun, and you just say so? Just like that?"

"Whatever happened at that Conclave thing, it's _bad_. Someone needs to get that Breach closed." He looked her directly in the eyes. "So whatever I am, I'm on your side."

"But you didn't even try to hide it?"

He gave a rich, easy laugh from deep in his chest. "From something called the Inquisition? I'd have been tipped sooner or later. Better you hear it right up front from me."

Cassandra took a step forward to ask, "What, exactly, would be in these reports you'd send back?"

"Enough to keep my superiors happy. Nothing that'll compromise your operations. The qunari want to know if they need to launch an invasion to stop the whole damn world from falling apart. You let me send them word of what you're doing, it'll put some minds at ease. That's good for everyone."

"And in the reports we'd get from you?" Cassandra asked.

"Enemy movements, suspicious activity, intriguing gossip. It's a bit of everything. Alone, they're not much, but if your spymaster is worth a damn, she'll put 'em to good use."

Melora looked to Cassandra, who was regarding the Iron Bull dubiously. Cassandra gave a slight shrug and said, "All reports are run past Leliana before sending. Nothing gets sent that she doesn't approve." She fixed him with a resolute glare. "If this turns out to be a trick, or if anything in those reports compromises the Inquisition, I will eat you alive."

The Iron Bull grinned.  "Is that a promise?"

"It's a threat, if that somehow wasn't clear." Cassandra crossed her arms, scowling.

He gave a respectful nod. "Alright then.  Fair enough." He turned and raised his voice. "Krem! Tell the boys to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired!"

There was a whine in Krem's yelled reply. "What about the casks, chief? We just opened them up. With _axes_."

The Iron Bull shrugged, smiling. "Find some way to seal them. You're Tevinter, right? Try blood magic."

Melora squinted at the casks, at the stamps on the side. "Um, wait?" she said, too quietly to be heard at first, and then she spoke louder. "Hang on… That's good booze. Too good to waste. And we just made a deal. I say we drink on it. Possibly several times. Stay and warm up a while, maybe, um, find a spot on the beach that's not quite so… corpsey?" She looked to Cassandra for approval.

Cassandra sighed wearily. "Fine."

The Iron Bull gave a crooked smirk, speaking to Krem as he did. "Get 'em a drink, and get me one too." Then he clapped Melora on the shoulder, his huge hand covering most of her back, the blow hard enough to knock the wind out of her a bit. She made a small _uff_ noise, stumbling forward half a step, and then turned to him wearing a bewildered expression. He laughed and said, "Yeah, I think we're going to get along just fine."


	2. Chapter 2

The journey back to Haven was just as miserable as the way there.  Rain, drizzle, mist, a sudden scattering of hail, and finally, a constant pissing downpour ensured that everything that hadn't already been damp was now sopping wet, adding a sour smell of mildew to the already-pungent mix of sweat, blood, and dirt that clung to the travelers.  And of course, there was mud, too.  Lots and lots of mud.  Melora's boots weighed twice what they normally did, caked thickly in half the mud in Ferelden, making each step a struggle until she stopped to knock some of it off against a tree, only having to do the same a short time later.

The Iron Bull and his Chargers took point, acting as escorts, keen to show their worth to the Inquisition.  They moved efficiently, a practiced force snaking through the hills, many eyes making for a safer journey.  Melora found herself walking more and more toward the front of the group, both to avoid Cassandra and Varric's constant snarking at one another, and so she could listen to the Chargers.  They were a boisterous bunch, even with all the booze they'd salvaged from the shipwreck long since turned to piss and headaches, and Melora learned the words to several bawdy songs on the way back to Haven.  But she still hung back a bit, and she remained silent when the Chargers started up with a song she knew.

Instead, she just watched and listened.  And when the path was well-worn and easy to walk, she opened one of the pockets of her pack and pulled out a fist-sized ball of grey wool yarn and slender wooden needles, and she let her fingers move as she walked.

The destinations always seemed to be difficult, full of hard questions and harder decisions, so many eyes on her, expecting her to be something she was not.  But the road was almost easy, long stretches of walking while trying not to get lost when the road suddenly dissolved into shrubbery.  There was the occasional skirmish with a pack of foolish bandits or hungry wolves, too, but most were easily dispatched with so many in their group.

They had just started on again after a short break, and Melora found she was walking along by herself as she often did, knitting the heel of a sock.  From somewhere behind her, she could just hear Cassandra's exasperated grumble in response to some smartass remark from Varric.  Melora sighed wearily, ignoring them, and started humming the tune to one of the songs that she didn't quite fully know, though she was certain each verse ended with the Chargers yelling, " _... and a big rack of Orlesian tits!_ "

There were heavy footsteps beside her, and she looked over to see the Iron Bull coming up from behind her.  He gave her a friendly nod, falling into step alongside her.

"So," he began, tipping his head to look at her from the corner of his one good eye, "Who's in charge of the Inquisition, anyway?  I've been trying to figure it out the whole way back and it's not real obvious.  You came over to talk with me about hiring the Chargers, but that friend of yours, Cassandra?  She seems to spend most of her time growling at the rest of you."

Melora shook her head.  "Yes, she does that.  And, um… I don't know.  I guess if anyone should be in charge, it should be her.  But, um…"  She paused, folding her needles and tucking their tips into her belt to have both hands free.  Then she peeled back the fingerless glove on her left hand, and held out her palm to him.  Her mark slashed across her hand, a jagged and pale raised line, like a scar, but glowing faintly green even in the glare of the greyish daylight.

The Iron Bull blinked, staring at the mark.  "Damn, I'd heard you were 'marked by Andraste,' whatever that's supposed to mean, but… seriously, what the fuck is that?"

Melora gave a small, helpless shrug.  "I don't know.  I was the sole survivor of the Conclave, and this was my souvenir.  It seems to be able to manipulate the energy of the Fade somehow. I can use it to close the rifts."

"So it's magic."

Her lips twisted as she frowned.  "Yes and no.  It's not like normal magic.  Regular magic uses the mage's own life force as fuel.  It comes from within.  This… it seems to be able to draw on the energy of the Fade directly.  I'm just a conduit."  Melora looked down at the mark, squinting as she stared into the shining slash across her palm.  "Magic, I get.  This is something different.  I don't know.  Solas seems to have a much better grasp on it than I do.  I've tried to get him to explain, but it doesn't make any sense to me, even though I've studied the Fade extensively."

Melora scowled and picked up the sock again, twining the yarn around her fingers with practiced ease, and she began working the stitches without looking. "Whatever it is, it means I'm _special_." She sneered as she said the word. "So people keep giving me big, important things to do, and asking me for advice, as if I'm supposed to have any idea."

"I'm sure that's an attitude that inspires a lot of confidence in the Inquisition," the Iron Bull replied, his tone dry, looking down at her over his hooked nose.

"Hey, I didn't ask for any of this. I wasn't even supposed to be at the Conclave. I got dragged along at the last minute when half the Circle's mages came down with food poisoning from bad fish, and I was one of the few still well enough to travel. I spent the entire time in my room, reading and waiting for it to be over so I could go back to Ostwick. And then suddenly, everything was on fire, and things got really weird. And the next thing I knew, Cassandra was yelling at me and I had this glowing thing on my hand, and there were demons everywhere."

Melora chewed at the inside of her mouth and then added, "And I've spent pretty much the whole time since then… well, actually, still on fire, still weird, and with Cassandra still yelling at me, and… oh yes, lots more demons. So do forgive me if I'm not the picture of adventurous enthusiasm."

He chuckled. "Still, though, might be a good idea to not immediately tell the people who follow you exactly how little you want to be leading them. Not quite so transparent, maybe?"

"...says the man whose introduction is, 'Hi, nice to meet you. Oh, and by the way, I'm a spy.'"

He gave a short cough and said, "Yeah, alright, fair enough." He rubbed his palm along the back of his neck, and Melora forced herself to look away, to not stare so openly at the movement of his immense upper body. She was pretending to count stitches when he asked, "So, you're a noble, are you?"

Melora nodded, though she couldn't help but wonder how he'd known. "So they tell me. Not that it counts for much. When a mage is sent to the Circle, they give up their titles and claims. The Circle becomes their family, their home. And noble mages aren't given much special treatment." She sighed and shook her head. "Not that being the fifth of five daughters was worth anything either. Not like it came with any title besides, well, the extra, extra, extra one. If they hadn't found someone to marry me off to, I'd have been sent to the Chantry. But I turned out to be a mage, it was off to the Circle with me, and I had to swear away any titles."

"Seems as though you went and got your own title. 'Herald of Andraste' ain't nothing."

Melora sighed. "I suppose. Can't say as though I want that one, though. It's gotten me nothing but up to my ass in trouble."

"Yeah, but you're tiny. Up to your ass is only like knee height for most people."

"And ankle height for you," she replied with a smirk.

"Still, even if you are ass deep in trouble, you're not stuck in the Circle tower now, are you? You're out on the road, fresh air and, sunshine… Well, uh… clouds and rain, but sun eventually. You're getting your hands dirty, kicking asses... That last group of bandits, you zapped the crap outta that guy with the bow. I'm pretty sure he pissed himself before he went down. And as much as you frown, I think you're starting to have fun with it. Something tells me you haven't spent your entire life sitting on fluffy pillows and eating those little Orlesian chocolates with the fruity cream inside, have you? Well, knitting aside."

Melora looked down at the sock, fixing a dropped stitch and chewing at her lip before she spoke. "One of the older mages taught me how to knit shortly after I came to the Circle. She taught everyone. We weren't allowed weapons, of course, and they were even careful to take inventory of the knives in the dining hall before anyone was allowed to leave. But… um, it could come in handy, having a craft that meant I always had sharp things at hand if I needed them."

"Life in the Circle was that dangerous?"

She took a deep breath and then shrugged. "Mostly, it's just boring. Unnerving, too, always being watched, always under scrutiny. There were certainly much worse places to be. And most of the Templars were… fine. Kept to themselves, like they were supposed to. But we all heard tell of ones that weren't so standoffish. Who'd… um… let's just say, having a way to defend oneself without magic was something the older mages thought was important we know, just in case. So we all learned to knit, and where on a person to stick a needle to wound, or if need be, to kill."

"Shit, seriously?"

Melora nodded. "It's not something I ever needed myself. But… as you say, I'm not stuck in the tower now. Though there's no telling how long that'll last."

The Iron Bull made a low noise, thinking before he said, "Well, get this whole end of the world thing sorted out, and you'll be able to choose what you want to do. Even with your Inquisition as small as it is, you're starting to make a name and reputation. Your own name and reputation, separate from the Inquisition's and the Circle's. Seems to me you'd be wise to ensure you make the right one. Or at least, the one you want."

Melora opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it again, frowning down at the stitches on her needles. She drew a deep breath through her nose and then turned to look at him, nodding. "Yeah. Thanks," she said, quieter than she'd meant to.

"Anytime, boss," he replied, giving her a warm smile.

They were both silent then, walking along through the trees as the Chargers led the way. Now and then, Melora glanced over at the Iron Bull, trying not to stare but unable to keep her eyes off him. He was not what she had expected when she'd first seen him on the beach. For a man of such strength, so scarred and brutal, she could not have guessed he had such a depth of thought. And the more she spoke to him, the more curious about him she became. But for the moment, she was content to travel beside him in comfortable silence, feeling safer and reassured in his nearness.


	3. Chapter 3

The closer their journey brought them back to Haven, the more tense Melora became, a building ache tightening her neck and shoulders, clamping vice-like around her head, roiling worry brewing in the pit of her stomach.  She spoke little, ate less, and kept to herself when they made camp at nightfall, fingers shaking as they worked the stitches of her sock slower and slower, until she dropped more stitches than not and had to put it away.  And when there was little sound but the crackle of the fire and snoring, she would strip back the glove on her left hand to peer at the mark there, to watch its faint glow flaring greenish in the dim light.  It brightened if she poked at it, but she felt little from it now except a faint tingle across her palm… and the nausea that the sight of it brought to her belly.

By the time they approached the gates of Haven, the group dusty with road dirt and ready for a rest, Melora was trembling, and had not spoken a word for most of the day.  The light was fading, orange-gold giving way to a dusky purple, shadows lengthening on the snow.

They were no small group, the Chargers arriving with them, and many of Haven's residents came out to line the streets, curious about the new arrivals… and more than a few of them hoping to catch a glimpse of the crackling green flame held in her hand.  Melora let her hair fall in a damp, stringy veil over the sides of her face, but it was little disguise.  They knew her already, and the whispers of, _"Hey, that's her,"_ and _"Herald,"_ began before they had even entered the town, hushed whispers from the guards and troops stationed outside.

There were hands then, outstretched toward her, and voices calling her name, wanting her attention.  There were murmurs behind cupped palms.  And there were eyes.  So many eyes on her, waiting for her to say something, to do something, eyes curious and flashing, eyes suspicious and wary.

Melora brought her hand to her face, pressing clenched fingers to her cheek, but she realized it was the hand with the mark and dropped it again to her side.  Her fingernails gripped her palm, biting into the leather of her glove and… whatever the mark was, an alien tingle twining up her arm.  Her heart thudded against her ribs, as if it were trying to escape, and she quickened her pace, dropping her gaze to her feet, hunching and trying to make her already tiny frame even smaller.  She swallowed hard, her nervous smile clearly uneasy.

And then, she noticed people turning away from her, the voices sounding surprised, some even alarmed.

The Iron Bull had just come through the gates, and the people of Haven stared openly at the massive qunari, who towered over them.  He crossed his arms over his chest, looking completely nonchalant as he chatted with Krem who stood at his side.  Melora couldn't hear what they were saying, but they were both chuckling at one another.  And for the moment, Melora was forgotten.

She took the opportunity to escape, feet carrying her swiftly, almost bounding through the darkened, narrow streets toward the door of the house they called hers.  It was blessedly unlocked, and Melora yanked the door open, throwing herself inside.  She slammed the door behind her, chest heaving, and she threw her pack down, sinking against the back of the door.  She closed her eyes and leaned her head against her pack, hair sticking to her cheeks in disarray.  As Melora forced herself to concentrate on slowing her breathing, and she felt her heartbeat slow with it, too.  She swallowed hard, pushing her hair back from her forehead, pressing the heels of her hands to her closed eyes until light swam in her vision.

Melora gave herself another ten deep breaths, and then she forced herself back to her feet, stumbling with exhaustion, and she began to strip off her boots and robes.  Her fingers were cold and sore, and she struggled with her clothes, swearing under her breath.  The outer corners of her mouth twitched downward, and she bit hard at her lip, the pain forcing her into sharper focus.

She blinked, realizing only then that the tiny, one-room hut was warm, a fire laid in the small, recently-swept hearth.  She wondered if they did that every night here, just in case she came back.  The thought made her slightly dizzy, and she focused on getting undressed instead.

Her shoulders protested as she shrugged off her long leather overcoat, kicking it into a pile off to one side.  It would need cleaning and repairs, but for tonight, it could just be a heap. She felt like a heap herself. Melora peeled up the cuff of one of her socks, stuck to her skin with damp, and gingerly began to slip it down over her ankle.

There was a soft rap at the door.

Melora winced, poking at a fat blister on her heel and snapped, "What?"

The door pushed open, stopped by her pack. The frilly one, Josephine, peeked inside, glancing down at the pack, and then at Melora, who was hopping on one foot with her sock half off. Josephine gave an apologetic look and said softly, "I am terribly sorry for disturbing you. But they said you were back and I thought… Shall I send for some hot water? Or perhaps something to eat?"

Melora took a deep breath, her expression softening, and she nodded. "Yes, please. That'd be nice. I… thank you. Sorry."

"Also, I didn't know if you had anything to wear, so I collected a few things together for you while you were gone. Some pieces are probably a little big, but any that are to your liking can be altered. They're in the chest by the bed. Tell me in the morning if there are any other things you need, and I'll see to them."

Melora lowered her foot to the floor, sucking air through her teeth at the pain of fresh blisters on rough wood. Then, she gave Josephine a slight, sheepish smile. "Thank you," she said, sincerity plain in her voice.

Josephine dipped her head and nodded. "You are most welcome," she said.  "I will send someone to bring the other things shortly.  Good evening to you."  Then she was gone, closing the door behind her.

Melora stared at the door, and then set about stripping off the rest of her traveling gear, throwing it in a heap next to the leather coat, pulling off damp, stiff layers of linen and wool until she stood naked in the middle of the room.  She wasn't sure any amount of cleaning would get her doublet and trousers clean, and as she examined the array of interesting coloured bruises on her legs, she found herself thinking pleasantly upon the idea of taking the whole mess of travelling gear outside the next morning, dousing it in lamp oil, and setting it ablaze.

She retrieved a spare blanket from the end of the bed and wrapped it around herself, huddling into the scratchy wool, sitting down on the floor by the fire.  Her aching body protested, but once she was there, the warmth was delicious, and she pulled a bit of the blanket over her head like a hood, closing her eyes, tucking her toes up under so she was almost entirely covered.

There was another rap at the door some time later, and she looked up with a start.  She'd been dozing, the weariness of the road bone-deep.  She stood, pulling the blanket tighter around her, and pushed her pack out of the way of the door with her foot.

Two boys of about twelve stood outside, one carrying a heavily laden tray, the other bearing two steaming buckets of water.  Melora clutched the blanket close to her and stepped back to let them in.  They seemed afraid to speak to her, or even look at her, and they set down the tray and water without a word.

"Thank you," she said as they started to leave, and the taller of the boys managed a squeaked, "Welcome, ser," as he fled, closing the door behind him.

On the tray lay a fresh bar of soap and a washcloth, along with a covered plate, a teacup, and a fat little teapot, its spout steaming a sweet herbal fragrance.  She stared at the tray, her eyes tracing the delicate pink flowers that decorated the teapot and teacup, and at the frayed bit of yellow ribbon that had been tied around the bundle of cutlery next to the plate.  They'd even brought her a towel, well-worn with faded embroidery of ducks around the bottom edge.

Melora folded the blanket and laid it back on the bed, and then set about the task of cleaning off the accumulated road dirt.  She smoothed soap and warm water over her aching body, grey-brown water dripping onto the floor and between the rough-hewn floorboards.  Slowly, she began to see patches of clean skin, sluicing the dirt from her limbs with the sides of her hands.  She was especially careful around the blisters on her feet, knowing how much they would hurt if they were to burst.  After a good once-over, she seemed mostly clean, and had used most of the first bucket of water, so she knelt on the floor, leaning over the bucket.  She gathered her hair and pushed it down into the water, shivering despite the warmth on her scalp.  She added a little soap and worked it through her hair, then rinsed it again in the same water, enough at least to remove most of the sweat and grime.  The water in the bucket was rather dark and cloudy, and her hair was not exactly clean, but at least it was a bit better.  She wrung out most of the water, and then pushed her wet hair back over her shoulder, feeling it dripping down her back.

With the other bucket, she more thoroughly cleaned her face, hands, and feet, and then she used the duck-embroidered towel to dry herself, trying to ignore the grey cast to the dampness on the towel as she laid it over a chair to dry.

Melora poured herself a cup of tea, her hands shaking, the lid of the teapot clattering softly. She hugged the cup to her chest, warmth seeping pleasant into her fingers. She lifted the cover on the plate, peeking at its contents: roast vegetables and some sort of greasy meat.  It smelled wonderful.  Her stomach rumbled, but she replaced the cover and crossed the room with her tea, footsteps slow and careful on her sore, blistered feet, and she crawled into the little bed. It was covered with a thick quilt, much-mended but quite warm, and the mattress was stuffed with clean, fresh straw. She pulled the quilt up to her chest, and looked around at the tiny room that they said was hers.

She sat like that for a long time, eyes wide and wet but no tears falling, the cup of tea cooling between her palms.  Eventually, she looked down into the cup, seeing her own reflection there, her dark eyes wide and fearful, rippling and dancing in the surface of the tea.b _"Herald of Andraste_ ," she whispered to herself, and the words felt like a lie in her mouth.  She gave a humourless snort, and her reflection rippled and blurred as the cup shook in her grasp.

She drank down the tea, lukewarm but good, and then she lay down on her side, staring into the fire.  She watched it burn down, and as she did, she wondered about the hands who had stitched the quilt covering her, until sleep dragged her down in its embrace.

Her dreams were lurid green, swirling full of innumerable staring, accusing eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

Melora wasted no time in making preparations for another trip, leaving the house they called hers just after dawn, dressed in the too-large garments Josephine had left for her in the chest, rolled up at the cuffs and ankles.  Her hair she had combed and braided down her back, tied with the scrap of faded yellow ribbon that had been around the cutlery provided with her uneaten dinner.  There were shoes left in the chest, too, but they were much too big, and her boots were so stiff and caked with mud that she gave up and went without, padding barefoot in the cold dirt.  She moved slowly, favouring her right foot.  One of her blisters had burst in the night, leaving the blankets stiff and her skin stinging, so she limped on her tiptoes to keep from getting dirt in the sore, exposed spot.

She hadn't had the satisfaction of burning her stinking travelling clothes, as she'd wanted so badly to, but at least she could replace them with new ones, and she made her way to the gates, where a few merchants and crafters had set up for business.  There, she purchased several new sets of trousers and blouses, light underlayers that she could change frequently when on the road when they became soiled with sweat and muck.  They were all much too large, though, and she made a mental note to take a needle and thread to them, hemming them fit her short stature.  Along with these, she acquired two bars of soap and a small bottle of mint oil, which would do well to cover the unpleasant smells she would undoubtedly encounter on her journeys.  And she found two lovely skeins of natural brown wool, smelling of lanolin and nearly begging her to become a thick cowl to keep her warm even in the relentless chill and damp.

Her preparations had not gone unnoticed, though she had hoped to at least make it through a full day without some sort of lecture.  It was Cullen who found her first, while she was trying on the armorer's premade boots, and when he came up to her, she was sitting in the dirt with one foot propped on her knee, undoing the laces of yet another too-large boot.

"I see you are making ready for another journey already," his remark more of a protest from a grumpy Templar raincloud looming over her, all righteous indignation and fur.

"I am," Melora said, avoiding his gaze as she pulled the boot off her foot and grabbed another that looked a bit smaller.  She could feel his eyes on her, and she hunched her shoulders, trying not to show her fear.  She could smell the lyrium on him, like the scent of rain before the storm. He had never threatened her or shown her anything but kindness... but he was still a Templar, capable of striking her down with little more than a touch.

"There are matters here that require your attention," Cullen said, crossing his arms and frowning.

" _My_ attention?"  Melora shook her head. "I'm just a Circle mage.  Not even a particularly good one. And really, I'm an apostate now.  All I've got is this... _thing_ on my hand, and people seem to think gives me the authority to make decisions.  But I'm not a diplomat, or a spy, or a strategist. I'm nobody."

"They say you're the Herald of Andraste.  Being chosen by the bride of the Maker is qualification enough, isn't it?"

 _"They_ say.  Who is they?  Why do _they_ get to decide this?  If I say I am not chosen by Andraste, will _they_ leave me alone about it?"

Cullen gave her a faint smile.  "I daresay denying it will make them believe it all the more.  'The Herald is so humble,' they'll say.  'Not grasping for power, though she's blessed by Andraste herself.'"

She gave him a sour look.  "So what should I do?"

"Stay a few more days.  We will call together the war council and get everything taken care of as quickly as possible.  And then, if you wish to go, go.  I will arrange for a company of soldiers to join you this time, now that we have enough trained to spare a dozen or so."

Melora paused in the middle of taking off the next overly large boot and blinked up at him.  "You… you want me to take troops with me?  

"Yes. Safety in numbers. They will be able to protect you from whatever you may face."

She could only stare, baffled at the very idea, and slowly, she shook her head, looking down at her bare feet.  "I… I know you are only trying to help, but you have to understand what it's like out there.  People are terrified.  The Circles have mostly dissolved, the Divine is dead, the Templars are… well, nobody really knows what's going on with the Templars."

"All the more reason to bring a decent amount of soldiers with you, to show that the Inquisition is restoring order."

"Or that we're grasping for power at the end of a sword."

"You know that's not what we're doing."

She set her lips in a thin line, huffing a breath through her nose before she said, "I know that, but if we march into places with a big band of soldiers, people are going to be terrified.  It's already bad enough that they have the Templars and the mages fighting in the Hinterlands.  We go in with boots marching too, it's just going to look like another faction to continue the chaos, not end it.  Besides, um, if you're concerned with assassins, keeping to a small, quiet group would attract far less attention than the Inquisition putting on a parade.  We can move faster and easier if there's just a few of us."

Cullen shifted from foot to foot, eyeing her, considering her words.  "That may be true.  But you need to have protection, as in _you_ , personally.  You're too valuable to the Inquisition. Someone needs to be at your side at all times. I would do it myself, but I have my duties here.  Keeping you alive is our top priority.  With no Divine and what's left of the Chantry's leaders split over just about everything, you give the Inquisition legitimacy.  And the more rifts you close, the more good you do out in the field, the greater the influence of the Inquisition, and the stronger we are."

Melora pushed herself to her feet, having given up on finding a pair of boots small enough to fit her.  She ignored Cullen's crossed-arms stare from behind her, and took several minutes talking with the armorer about having a pair of boots made specially for her.   When she turned back to Cullen, she was frowning just as much as he was.  "Isn't having me out there sooner more important than keeping me here?  Can't you and Josephine and Leliana make all the decisions?  Just tell me where to go and what to do, and I'll do it, if I can." 

"And you're going to do it… barefoot?"  Cullen looked down at her feet, raising his eyebrows.

Melora looked down too, and then gave him a sheepish look.  "The Dalish do."

He gave her a smile.  "You're going to have to wait for those boots to be made, if nothing else.  And if you're going to be representing the Inquisition in the field, you need to have the confidence to make decisions that affect the entire operation.  We need to have the confidence in you out there doing that.  So join us at the war table while your boots are being made, so you can listen and learn.  And when you go, Cassandra goes with you."

"Look, um…  if you'd like me to have more protection, I don't need an army.  I, um... I want to bring the Iron Bull."  She started up the steps, back toward the little house they called hers, her new purchases tucked beneath one arm.

Cullen stopped a few steps behind her, and did not reply until she had noticed he was no longer following.  She turned back to look at him as he said, "You do know he is a spy, yes?"

"Indeed, I am well aware.  It was one of the first things he said to me, right after 'drinks are coming' and 'I can protect you from demons.'"

"And this is satisfactory to you?  An admission of guilt gains your instant trust?  Are you completely daft?"  His voice was right behind her, footsteps swift as he caught up to her.

Melora swallowed hard, clenching her hands into fists, determined not to show her fear. "You said I need a bodyguard.   We get stuck in, we need someone who can clear the field fast, and can take a few hits without immediately turning into soup."

"And Cassandra can't do that?  I've seen her work.  She's got an excellent defensive stance."

"I didn't mean that I wouldn't take her, too.  I want to bring them both.  Cassandra for defense, the Iron Bull for offense, Varric turning enemies into porcupines from a distance, and me and Solas freezing them to shatter beneath Bull's axe and Cassandra's blade.  Or I can leave Solas here and he can continue his research on the Breach.  Though I'm a little afraid that Varric and Cassandra may end up with permanent injuries from all the eye-rolling they do at each other, though."  

Though she did not say it, she could not help but think that she would find more than Cassandra's blade reassuring.  Cassandra was so strong and brave, so fierce and unyielding.  Melora trusted her judgement and her counsel.  And there were few others who had such a comprehensive education in the finer points of the Andrastian religion.

"Why are you so insistent on bringing the qunari with you?  You're a Marcher!  With all that his people have done in the Free Marches, I would think you'd want to stay as far from him as possible."

"... said the Templar to the mage."  She felt a certain satisfaction at the slight wince in his expression, but then she went on, "The world's gone mad, and we need all the allies we can get, don't we?"

"Then why not take the Warden, Blackwall, with you instead?  Cassandra's report said he saved your life once already."

Melora shook her head.  "I don't, um... I don't trust him.  I don't know why.  Just… something about the way he avoids my eyes, looks down and ducks his head whenever I ask him a question, never answers directly… He makes me nervous."

"And the spy for the Qun, you trust him?  You don't feel nervous around him?"

"Yes. And I don't know why that is either.  Just a feeling, I guess.  And…"  She stopped then, looking down at the things she carried, shaking her head.

"And what?"

"It's just that... Almost everyone else with us is Andrastian.  You, Josephine, Leliana, Cassandra, Blackwall, even Varric… And you all look at me like… like I'm supposed to be something more, like you're all just waiting for me to burst into flames.  There's this hope, this faith in all of your eyes, and makes me feel, um... a little sick.  Well, alright, I get less of that feeling from Varric, but he's too busy saying something snarky to ever be that serious."

"What about Solas?  He's clearly not Andrastian."

"And he treats me like I'm a curiosity for study.  An interesting specimen of herb.  But… the Iron Bull, I don't get any of that from him.  I feel like I'm a person to him, not a symbol of hope. I can talk to him about all of this and he doesn't make me feel ashamed for feeling weak.  I need someone I can talk to.  And, um… He makes me feel safer.  You haven't seen him in a fight but… when we were coming back from the Storm Coast, there was this group of bandits, and… well, they were no match for all of us and the Chargers, of course, but…"  She looked down at her feet as she continued, "The moment it was clear there was going to be a fight, he looked for me.  Stepped right in front of me, to protect me.  He said he could be my bodyguard, and he meant it."

"Aren't you in the least worried that he's an assassin, sent to kill you and destroy the Inquisition before it has barely begun?"

Melora stopped, having come to the front door of the house they called hers.  "Assassins commonly rely on stealth.  Do you truly think a man his size could sneak anywhere?  And besides, Leliana had him checked out, and approved of his presence here.  He's been working legitimately as a mercenary for the past five years in Orlais, and has never once broken a contact or killed anyone that didn't need to die.  Even if you don't trust my judgement, surely you trust Leliana's?"

"This still seems like a very bad idea."

Melora felt a surge of anger.  Why were they still talking about this?  Hadn't she made her case well enough yet?  Was she supposed to just roll over and defer to his judgement because he was a Templar and she a mage?  She resisted the urge to storm into the little house and slam the door behind her, setting her jaw firmly as she looked up into Cullen's face.  

His eyes looked tired, his chin covered in several days worth of stubble.  He wasn't protesting just for the sake of argument.

"Look, I understand your concern," she said, her expression softening.  "But if you want me to represent the Inquisition, you're going to have to trust my judgement, too.  I will take Cassandra with me, and if there's any sign that Bull's a danger to me, she will be there.  Besides, between her, me, and Varric, I'm pretty sure we could take him, especially if I froze him first.  And if things got really bad, we could all duck behind him with room to spare.  The qunari turns into a pincushion, and the precious Herald lives to fight another day."

"I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?"  Cullen breathed a weary sigh, pinching the flesh between his eyes with his forefinger and thumb.  "In fact, I'm getting the feeling that you are going to be difficult to talk out of pretty much anything."

Melora gave him a faint, sympathetic smile and shrugged.  "I already said I'd stay till my boots are done, didn't I?"

He nodded a little, rubbing at the back of his neck with his palm.  "I suppose you did."

"So take your victory and be glad of it.  Just let me have my own small one.  Please?"

Cullen sighed again and shrugged helplessly.  "Alright.  Just… please, if there is any sign of treachery, step aside and let Cassandra do what must be done."

"If there's any sign of treachery from him, I'll freeze him myself and let the Seeker take his head off."

He looked into her eyes with an unusual intensity, and Melora had the feeling that, had her hands not been full, he would have clutched both her hands tight in his to say, "If it comes to that, you must not hesitate.  Not even for a moment.  The slightest pause could mean your death, and your death could mean the death of _everyone._  Do you understand?"  His tone was deadly serious, but laced with concern.

She gave a little nod.  "I understand.  You don't have to worry about me."

"Yes, I do," Cullen said, giving her a tiny smile, just a twitch of the corners of his mouth.

"Thank you," she said, returning his smile, though a bit uneasily, and she pushed the door open.  "Good day to you, Commander."

"And to you, Herald."

Melora winced at the title as she closed the door behind her.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Melora leaned against a well worn fallen log close to the fire at their temporary camp. Tomorrow they would make the last leg of the journey to return to the Hinterlands, and could spend the following night in one of the forward camps, with cots and tents and more supplies. She could hardly wait for a nice cup of tea and something other than dried travel rations, and to sleep up off the ground.  She was already sick of having to whack her boots on the ground to dislodge any visitors.  The centipede as long as her hand she'd found in one boot two days previous had convinced her just to sleep wearing her boots, despite the discomfort.

She ran a damp cloth over her cheeks, then her neck and shoulders.  There wasn't enough water for a proper wash, with the nearest stream half a day's journey away and their canteens running low, but she figured she could sacrifice a mouthful of water to feel comfortable enough to rest.  She cleaned her hands as well, until she felt reasonably less filthy, and then she sat back to relax, weaving in the ends of the yarn on the textured cowl she'd started making on the way out of Haven.  The thick yarn and simple stitch pattern had flown through her fingers, and she'd finished it in less than two days as they'd walked.  

The night was chill, but the fire was warm, and she welcomed the light against the pressing darkness around them, leaning toward the firepit to have enough light to see by as she snipped the ends of the yarn with a set of tiny scissors.  After spending most of her life in the Circle, Melora found it difficult to get used to being outdoors so much.  The world was so big, and she so small.  But at least here, outside of Haven, there were fewer eyes on her, looking to her for answers and finding none.  The trees didn't look scared and disappointed, didn't whisper with concern when they thought she couldn't hear.  For all of the bugs and dirt, the smells and the fear, this little temporary camp was far more peaceful than her warm bed back at Haven.  

She could get used to this life, though she knew it could only be temporary.  Perhaps when this messy business was all over, she could find a way to stay out on the road, outside the Circle.  She felt a swelling of fear and excitement at the idea.  

_Apostate._

Just a short time ago, it would have seemed an absurd dream, having any kind of future separate from the Ostwick Circle.  Perhaps it was still an absurd dream.  There was no guarantee that any of them would make it out of this alive.  Indeed, there was no guarantee that they would even succeed.  The fate of the world seemed to be riding on her, or at least her hand, which was currently being used to tuck in the last remaining ends on a warm, snuggly cowl.  How this could be the will of Andraste, she could not fathom.

Cassandra sat at the edge of the camp, leaning against her pack, angled so the book she held was illuminated enough to read.  Varric had found a reasonably comfortable spot up against another fallen log, and had Bianca laying across his lap.  His short but nimble fingers moved with practiced ease, cleaning and oiling the already pristine crossbow.  Melora watched him, smiling faintly.  His touch on the weapon was almost loving, not that she could blame him.  Bianca was a magnificent weapon, and his careful tending of the many complex parts helped keep it a beautiful instrument of death.  The Iron Bull sat on the log beside Melora, eating sunflower seeds from a little sack, nibbling each one individually and spitting the shell into a growing pile in the dirt.

Melora tucked the scissors and needle away in her little kit, and then sat with her hands on her legs.  It was only a few breaths before she started rubbing her fingers together, picking at the edges of her fingernails, itching to do something with her hands.

She frowned for a moment, and then looked up at Bull, sitting up a bit straighter.  "Um… Bull?" she asked, her voice quiet, but still seeming too loud in the stillness of the camp.

"Yeah?"

"I, um… Can I ask for your help with something?  It's sort of silly, but…"

"Sure, boss.  What's up?"

Melora reached into her pack and pulled out a skein of yarn, soft and fine heathered grey, bouncy and wonderfully plied.  It would be perfect for a pair of socks.  "I wasn't expecting to finish my cowl quite so fast, and I forgot to wind this into a ball before we left Haven."  She untwisted the skein, holding it out over her hands, standing up to show him.  "It's just a big loop, see?  And I can't really use it like this, not without it ending up a tangled mess."

"You want my help with your yarn?"

She nodded a little.  "If you could just hold it over your hands while I wind a ball?  Sort of loosely, so the strand can come off the end of your fingers without me having to pull too hard..." She held out the skein and draped it over his hands to show him how to do it.

"You just need it stretched between a couple points, then?"

"Yes.  Normally it'd go on sort of a… like a horizontal wheel thing, but hands'll do, in a pinch."

Bull lifted both hands to his head, sliding the loop of yarn off his hands and onto his horns.  It hung down loosely over his forehead, and he grinned at her and popped another sunflower seed into his mouth, cracking it between his teeth and spitting the shell at his feet before he said, "How's this?"

Melora pressed her fingertips to her lips, stifling a giggle.  "I guess that'll work, sure."  She leaned forward and untied the end of the skein and wound the end round and round her thumb, starting the center of the ball.

Varric glanced up, and snorted a laugh.  "What in the world are you two doing?"

Bull gave a good-natured shrug.  "What's it look like?  She's winding a ball of yarn, and I'm helping."

Melora gestured a little, and Bull tilted his head down further, so the yarn came more easily off the top of his horns.

"I don't know which is more ridiculous,"  Varric said, still laughing, "The Herald of Andraste knitting warm snuggly socks, or the qunari spinning wheel."

Melora glanced over at Varric, smirking despite her indignant sniff.  "He's a yarn swift, not a spinning wheel.  The yarn's already spun.  And I was going to make the next pair for you, but maybe Josephine will appreciate them more."

"Can you believe this, Seeker?" Varric asked, turning to Cassandra.

Cassandra jumped at the sound of her name, snapping the book shut and tucking it beneath one leg.  "Sorry, what?" she said, and Varric repeated the question, gesturing to Melora and Bull.

Cassandra gave a small smile and said, "I think I can believe it, yes."  She reached down and slipped her foot from her boot, revealing an intricately cabled burgundy sock.  "She gave me the pair she finished on the way back from the Storm Coast, and they are excellent.  Travelling through all this wilderness, it is important to have warm, dry feet."

Cassandra replaced her boot and gave Varric a dry look before she added,  "Now, if you'll all excuse me, as I'm going to sleep.  Wake me for my watch, if you will."  She tucked her book away in her pack and then settled back and closed her eyes.

Melora's hands moved steadily, winding the yarn into a growing ball while Bull continued nibbling sunflower seeds.  

Varric looked up from the crossbow.  "So, Bull," he said, "I've been wondering, and I've got to ask… what's with qunari and their swords?"

Bull rolled a shrug, spitting another seed from the side of his mouth.  "That's just the warriors.  Ben-Hassrath use whatever tool's right for the job."  He paused, and his deep voice took on a smug tone.  "Besides, didn't you name your crossbow after a woman?"

Though she did not open her eyes, Cassandra gave a faint snort.

Varric looked down at Bianca, stroking the well-polished wood.  Sheepishly, he said, "Point taken," and said no more, balancing a small bottle of oil on his knee and using the rag to apply the oil with delicate precision to several spots on the moving parts of the crossbow.

Melora caught Bull's eye and they exchanged an amused, smirking look.  Bull looked back down at the bag of sunflower seeds cupped in his palm, but Melora's eyes stayed on him, watching him as her hands worked.  His face was so strange, his cheekbones, chin, and jaw large and protruding, lips wide and thick, his nose quite flat, one good eye deeply hooded, and everywhere, scars - across his cheek, through his lip, streaking down his forehead.  She had never seen anyone who looked anything like him before.  And yet, she couldn't stop looking at him, tracing over the lines of his face with her gaze.  There was something oddly handsome about him, a strength and character to his face that she found fascinating.  She had never been so close to him before, and try as she might to tear her eyes away, she couldn't help but stare.

The yarn snagged as she was winding it, and she reached up to tease the loops apart, her fingertips brushing across his forehead, his skin warm.  She sucked in a sharp breath, and then settled back to continue winding, forcing her eyes down to the ball of yarn, her cheeks growing hot, and she worked faster, trying to finish as quickly as she could.  

"Hey, boss?"

Melora flicked her eyes up to him for a moment, and then back down.  "Y-yes?"

"During that fight earlier today, the one with the big armored asshole with the huge shield… You were getting pretty close even when things got kinda crazy.  Did you actually duck under my legs at one point?"

Melora gave him a timid smile and nodded.  "Um… yes, I did.  I didn't realize you'd noticed.  I needed to get behind that, um, big armored asshole.  You were in the way, and I figured it's not like it's not real obvious where you're going to be."

"Hey!"  He sounded almost hurt.

Melora waved a hand.  "No, I mean, it's understandable.  You have to heave a giant hunk of metal around, and you've got to get some momentum behind that.  It's good, though.  It means I can predict where you'll be, and, um, work around you.  So I can get in close, get up behind them, use my staff blade to cut the straps off their armor, maybe nick an artery while I'm at it.  Or brush my fingers along the back of their neck and fill them with fear so great there's no room in their minds for anything else."

"So, wait… you're softening them up, to make them easier?  Those are my kills you're stealing!"  He snarled, glaring at her.

Melora sat up a little straighter.  She should have been frightened, hearing that growl directed at her, but she was struck with the absurd desire to hear that sound again.  She swallowed hard and said, "I'm not stealing.  I'm helping.  We're on the same side, so they're our kills."

Bull looked dismayed.  "You're a mage.  You're supposed to stand back and just blast 'em from a distance with your staff."

She glanced down at her staff, propped against the log beside her pack, and shrugged.  "The staff is just a focus.  It can help, but it's not necessary, and… honestly?  I'm small enough I find it often just gets in the way.  I think I'd prefer a blade in my hand. Or maybe one in each?"  Melora cupped one hand and focused her will, feeling the Veil twining around her like a familiar, comfortable cloak, and a flame crackled to life in her palm, flickering and dancing between her fingers, the orange-gold light mixing with the green of her mark.  "The magic's in me, not the staff."  Then she closed her hand, extinguishing the flame, and glanced up at him with a faint smile.

"Look, I like killing things.  I like figuring out exactly how to take someone apart, piece by piece.  If you're making it easier, you're taking the fun out of it."  His tone was almost a whine, ridiculous coming out of such a huge man.

Melora fought the urge to laugh, catching the corner of her lip with a tooth, looking up at him as she thought.  "So… include me in your figuring.  You said the Ben-Hassrath use whatever weapon is at hand, right?  So, um… just think of me as another weapon."

Bull raised an eyebrow.  "How would that even work?  You want me to pick you up by the ankles and swing you like a sword?"

Melora's eyes went wide as she considered the idea.  A slow grin spread across her face and she paused her winding for a moment.  "Wow, that is… um, not at all what I was thinking, but now that you've said it…"

"I'm not sure that'd be at all effective in a fight.  I'd have to put down my axe, and that's one less blade at work.  And that little knife of yours ain't gonna do much against someone in full plate with a tower shield.  Guess you could blast 'em with fire but I think you'd be able to aim easier if you were standing still on the ground."

"Well, sure, but… could you do it?  Not in a fight, I mean, just to see if we could?  Without bashing my head against something, ideally."  She spoke quickly, the words tumbling from her in her excitement, and she leaned toward him, firelight dancing across her smile.

He regarded her with a strange look, but then he smiled back and nodded.  "Yeah, alright.  Next time we're back at Haven, we can try it.  But we're not doing it with any other weapons.  You get dizzy being swung around by your feet, I don't want to lose the other eye to a loose knife."

Melora could barely contain her glee, grinning from ear to ear.

"I think I'm going to need an invitation to this sparring session," said Varric, smirking at the both of them.  Melora jumped at the sound of his voice, having almost forgotten he was still there.  "In fact, I may need to sell tickets.  I'm sure a lot of people would pay to see the Inquisition put on a circus."

Bull chuckled, low and rumbling, then he looked back to Melora.  "Hey, what _did_ you mean, if not… literally using you as a weapon?"

Melora gave a little shrug. "Oh, um… My version was a lot less fun."

"Well?"  He unfurled his fingers toward her, urging her to go on.  Melora glanced up from the ball of yarn and noticed Varric was waiting for her to elaborate too.

"No, I just… um…  Well, when we get stuck in, they usually go for you.  You're a bigger target, and hard to ignore.  You draw them so I know where they're going to be, keeping their eyes off me as I get back behind them.  They'll be so busy trying not to get a faceful of giant axe, they're probably not even going to notice that they're bleeding out from me stabbing 'em in the ass.  You're the bait, and I'm the hook."

"How can you be sure you won't get a faceful of axe yourself?  You get distracted, get in the way, even for a moment, and things could get real ugly."

"Only reason I wouldn't be getting out of the way is if I can't.  So if someone gives me a crack to the head that leaves me dizzy, if you're not careful, you'll be cleaning bits of me off your axe."

"Yeah, I'd really rather not have to do that…"

"Right, but that's what I meant.  Put me in your calculations.  I know you're doing them.  You have to be, the way you move in a fight.  I can almost see it happening in your head.  Surely you can do the same with me.  You've watched me fight enough to know what I can do, and what I'm likely to do.  Think of me as another weapon, one you can tell 'hey, that guy would look better with his face on fire.'  You've got a lot better view in a fight, and much more experience, too.  You just put me where you want me, where I can help best.  And if you want, I'll leave the killing blow to you."

Bull was quiet, thinking, and Melora lifted the last strand of off his horns, wrapping it around the ball of yarn and then tucking in the end.  She reached out and plucked a fluffy bit of lint from his left horn, giving him a little smile.

"Plus, it could be totally awesome," she added.  "Do you think I could, um, run and jump and grab hold of one of your horns to change direction in midair?  I could have a blade in my other hand and get someone in the throat as I swing by them."

Bull's mouth twisted into a fiendish grin.  "That actually does sound pretty sweet.  Hey, if you think you could do that, maybe we could try something like…"  He paused, hunching his shoulders, moving his hands as he explained, voice rough with excitement.  "I lock somebody's arms, get my head down.  Then you go through the horns, for his throat."

"You mean I'd go up, over your back?"  Her eyes glittered at the thought.

"Yeah, I guess you'd have to kinda leap… Hmm, would that be too far up?"  He eyed her, sizing her up.  "I could sort of hunch down.  Maybe you can use my belt as a foothold and climb."

Melora's gaze fell to the thick leather belt that encircled his torso, forming a wide band around his body.  It had enough of an edge that it could work as a hand or foothold for climbing… and she found the idea of climbing him suddenly and intensely intriguing.

"I… um… Yes, that could…"

He cut her off, speaking rapidly.  "Okay, but wait, how about this?  Next time we run into a line of enemies, I'll pick you up and throw you."

"You'll… what?"

"No, this could work."  He used his hands to illustrate as he explained.  "I toss you up and over the front ranks.  You land behind them to flank.  Mayhem ensues!"  He leaned in closer, that wicked smile on his mouth as he purred.  "Think of the mayhem, boss! _Mayyyyyheemmmmm_."

Melora stared at his mouth, unconsciously flicking her tongue over her own lips, her face feeling suddenly flush with warmth.  She had to struggle to for words again.  "I… I… Um.  Mayhem's good.  I like mayhem."  She swallowed hard, forcing her eyes away from him.  "But, um… how am I supposed to land?  Without dying, I mean?"

He huffed.  "Look, you and Varric are the only ones small enough, and he's.... pretty dense."

Varric gave a snorting laugh.  "Ouch!"

Cassandra lifted her head, scowling at them.  "Can you please keep it down?  I am _trying_ to sleep!"

Melora waved a hand apologetically , but Cassandra had already closed her eyes again.  "Sorry, sorry.  We'll be quieter.  Um, actually, we should probably try to sleep, too.  It's getting late, and we've got a lot of ground to cover if we're going to make it to the Hinterlands."

"Yeah, alright," said Bull, sounding a little disappointed.  "I'll take the first watch.  Varric, you next?"

Varric nodded.  "Sounds good.  I'm pretty beat, and Bianca needs her beauty sleep."  There was a soft clatter as he put the crossbow aside and got himself comfortable.

Melora tucked the ball of yarn away in her pack and settled down on her bedroll.  Laying down on the double thickness of rough wool, Melora rolled so her back was to the fire, letting it warm her.  She knew the Iron Bull was still sitting there, close enough that she could reach out and touch his leg if she wished.  She hadn't heard him move, the only sound the soft crackle of the flames consuming the deadfall she had gathered before sunset.

After a time, she opened her eyes.

Bull was indeed still sitting there on the fallen log, and he had not moved.  He hunched over his legs, hands laced loosely together.  And he was watching her, his face clouded with thoughts she could not fathom.  

The scarred corner of his mouth twitched in a slight smile, and he murmured low to her, " _Go to sleep, boss._ "

Melora obeyed, closing her eyes again, and she slept.


	6. Chapter 6

After several days pushing further into the Hinterlands, mapping spots for Inquisition camps and closing rifts, they were finally nearing the crossroads south of the town of Redcliffe.  It had been hard going, and they were all exhausted.  Yet Melora could not deny the beauty of the place.  Rocky hills gave way to green rolling fields, and everywhere, plant and animal life was abundant.  Melora caught a rabbit by surprise on her way back from relieving herself in the bushes, and before it could flee, she caught it with a blast of flame, securing a bit of fresh meat for supper.  Cassandra collected some edible wild greens, and Varric had located a few handfuls of tart blackberries while gathering wood for a fire, and they added purple berry stains to the demonic ichor and blood covering their clothing.  Between the rabbit, the greens, and the berries, they had a small feast, and a welcome change from their usual travel rations.

There was a peace here, despite the demons and bandits, a purpose in the work that Melora had never found living in the Circle.  She could feel her body growing stronger, the aches and pains less, and in the evenings, Bull showed her how to wield her knife, how to slash and defend, correcting the misinformation she'd learned about how to stab with a knitting needle.  She tried to pay attention, despite the distraction of his huge hand curled around hers, adjusting her grip, the closeness of him as he showed her the correct way to move, the touch of his fingertip against her throat as he explained exactly where to strike to maximize the bleeding.  More than once, he disarmed her simply because she was too preoccupied with the way he was grinning at her to dodge before he had her knife, and had knocked her onto her ass.  It was almost worth it to hear him laughing softly as he extended a hand to her and pulled her effortlessly to her feet to try again.

But as they approached the area south of the crossroads, Melora could feel a sick fear settling into her belly.  Everywhere, there seemed to be signs of death and destruction: burned out farmhouses, overturned wagons, fly-covered corpses face down in the mud.  And then, they found the source of the chaos, hearing the unmistakable sounds of fighting ahead.

"Apostates," said Cassandra, hand on her sword and ready to draw.  

"And Templars," added Varric, pulling the crossbow from his back and readying a bolt.

Melora held up her hand.  "Wait.  We attack no one before they raise a weapon to us."

Varric turned to stare at her.  " _Seriously_?"

Bull hooked a thumb toward the dwarf. "I'm with Varric on this one.  You wait and give people a chance to get a shot off at you, you're gonna get nothing but dead."

"I have to agree," said Cassandra.  "This is a war.  It is no place for idealism."

But Melora shook her head.  "And if we're going to go around attacking people without provocation, what does that make us?"  She looked at each of them in turn.  "Demons, bears charging at us…  Fine.  But men?  Until they draw a blade, lift a bow, or point a staff in our direction, we have to give them the chance to talk."

"Look at you, taking charge, giving orders," said Varric, his tone almost mocking.

Melora shot him an angry look.  "You want to be in charge?  You want this mark?  Take it, it's yours."

Varric shook his head and took a step back.  "Hey, I didn't mean--"

She looked to Cassandra, and then Bull.  "You then?  Or you?  No?  Then put your weapons _away_."  Though the words felt strong, she had to resist the urge to clap a hand over her mouth, horrified that she'd stood up to them.  She slumped, looking down at her feet, her hands trembling at her sides, and she swallowed hard, waiting for someone to yell at her.

But while they spoke, the battle had continued, and it was down to a single wounded Templar against the last remaining apostate.  Their fellows lay dead around them, and the Templar had fallen to his knees, blood pooling around him.  The apostate, a young man of so few years he was more like a boy, no older than thirteen, stood with heaving chest, looking small in his torn robes, face contorted with rage.

Melora glanced back at her friends, all of them still so prepared to attack, and before she realized what she was doing, she took a step forward, toward the boy.

"Hold!" Melora called, her voice shaking as she walked toward the him, holding her hands out, palms down to show she was unarmed.  But beneath her palms, she gathered the Veil like handfuls of fabric, pulling it smooth and flat, making it harder to cast any other spells.

"Wha-- who are you?  Get back!  Just stay back!" he screamed, and she could see now there were tears running down his cheeks, leaving tracks in the dirt on his skin.

"I'm with the Inquisition.  I'm not going to hurt you.  Just…  let's have a little talk, alright?  Just you and me."  

"There's nothing to talk about!" the boy sobbed, and he pointed an accusing finger at the Templar on the ground, who had slumped back on  his haunches.   "He killed my friends!  He was going to kill me, too!"

"But now he's not.  He can't even stand.  So why don't you let my friends deal with him, and you and I can talk."

"Why?!" the boy shrieked.  "I'm a _mage_.  Just some _apostate_.  Nobody wants to talk to me.  They just want me dead!  Soon we'll all be dead, just like Neri and Egwin!"

"I'm a mage, too," she said, taking another few steps toward him, slow and steady, as if he were a spooked horse.  "We don't kill mages just for being mages, I swear it.  And I'm sorry about your friends.  What were their names again?"

"Neri, and Egwin!  We all left the Circle together when everything fell apart, escaped the Templars… but they hunted us down like dogs!  Slaughtered my friends!"

"Which Circle did you come from?  I'm from Ostwick, in the Free Marches."

The boy's wide, panicked eyes darted.  "Um… Jader.  The Circle in Jader."

"Jader?  That's a nice place, Jader.  Lovely sea air.  And lots of fresh fish.  Hey, I didn't catch your name."

"Osmund.  My friends call me Ossie.  Or… they did."  The end came out a sob as Melora reached the boy's side.

Melora reached out a trembling hand and placed it on the boy's shoulder, looking into his eyes.  "Ossie… is it alright if I call you that?  I'm so sorry about Neri and Egwin.  I'm sorry you've had to go through all of this.  Can I hold your staff for you?  There's a good lad.  Come on, there's a nice spot over there by that tree.  Let's go sit down and get you cleaned up, have some water."

His shoulders slumped and his lips trembled, but he gave a little nod, and Melora walked with him over to a shady patch beneath a nearby tree, setting his staff aside and sitting crosslegged down on the ground.  She untied her waterskin from her pack and handed it to him, and then turned back to her friends, who were still standing where she had left them, staring after her.

She looked at them, glanced at the Templar, and gave a faint nod, and then turned back to Osmund, who was wiping the back of his mouth with his hand, his chest hitching as he tried not to cry again.

"Now," she said, giving him a sympathetic smile.  "I want you to tell me the happiest memory you have of Neri and Egwin.  I want to hear all about them."

 

~*~

It was another hour before they made it to the crossroads.  Bull slung the unconscious, wounded Templar over his back, and Melora wrapped an arm around Osmund's shoulders, using his staff as a walking stick.  They delivered the Templar to the healers, and she left Osmund with Varric and Cassandra while she had a word with Mother Giselle.  Bull stood back as Melora spoke to Mother Giselle, arms crossed over his chest, and waited for her to finish their talk.  He followed behind, eyeing anyone who got too close as Melora went around the rest of the camp, speaking with the handful of Inquisition scouts who had made it to the crossroads past the fighting.

When she was done, she was frowning, and she walked off to the side, rubbing at her forehead with her fingertips.

"You alright, boss?" he asked, and he hesitated before he lay a hand on her shoulder.

Melora glanced at his hand, feeling the weight and warmth of it, reassured by it, and she reached up to lay her hand atop his, giving him a faint smile.  "Yes.  Just…"  She nodded toward a group of a dozen or so refugees huddled around a smoky campfire, trying to keep warm.  Then she paused, chewing at her lip.  "Good locations for supply caches in this area… where do you think they'd be?"

Bull took a moment and thought.  "Well, it's real wet around here, so you'd want something up a hill where it's not gonna get flooded out in a storm.  But not too big a hill, or it's a pain in the ass to get up there.  And something with a bit of cover, so it's not obvious to anyone passing by.  So a bit hidden, with some evergreens or big rocks around. Probably covered in some branches, too, for extra camouflage, so I'd be looking for clumps of dead among the green."

Melora gave a little nod, and then gestured to Cassandra and Varric.  "Come on.  We're going.  Everyone keep an eye out for hills with dead foliage on top.  Varric, I want you and Bianca ready.  We saw a lot of wild sheep on the way in, so they're probably all around here.  Take down any you see.  Watch for bears, too, and if you see one far off, I can freeze it before we finish it off.  Pretty sure bear's edible, even if it's not as nice as mutton."

"Wait, we're leaving?  Now?  We just got here!" Varric protested.

"And now we're going," Cassandra said dryly, looking at him with her lips set in a thin line.

Varric sighed and shrugged Bianca off his back.  "Fine."

The young mage, Osmund, ran up to them looking dismayed.  "You're not leaving, are you?!" he asked Melora.

"We'll be back, Ossie.  You're going to stay here.  See what you can do to help Mother Giselle with the wounded."  She gave him a soft smile.

"But I don't know anything about healing!  I can't do that kind of magic!"

Melora shook her head.  "No magic for now.  It can be unpredictable when you're upset.  Just do as Mother Giselle asks.  Help with bandages, fetch water, that sort of thing.  Keep your hands and your body busy, and it will help keep your mind busy too.  We'll be back soon."

He opened his mouth to protest, but Melora cut him off.  "Go on, now.  There's lots of work to do."

Osmund nodded a little, and started off, but then he turned back to her and said, "Be careful, alright?"

"We will.  Don't worry."

Then she turned, and the others followed, heading back toward the hills of the Hinterlands.

After a few minutes, Melora fished a mostly-finished sock out of her pack.  She pulled the slender needles out of the stitches and tucked the needles away, and then she began to wind the yarn back onto the ball with one hand, holding the dwindling sock with the other.  In just a few minutes, several days worth of work on the sock had disappeared, leaving only a ball of slightly-wavy yarn.  She broke off the ragged end, tossing the little bit of frayed wool aside, and then readied two needles and started to cast on stitches for something different.

 

~*~

 

They returned to the crossroads just before nightfall the next day, the light fading around them.  Bull carried the skinned, gutted carcasses of three sheep slung over his shoulders, adding to the stink already clinging to him and the rest of them from two days of hunting in the wilderness.  Cassandra carried the skins, Varric an armload of blankets, and Melora had her woolen bedroll folded into a pouch, filled with blackberries.  They had a map, too, drawn on a scrap of birchbark with a bit of charcoal, showing where they'd strung up the carcasses of six more sheep, along with several large cuts of meat from two bears. and the locations of some more supplies they'd found stashed in the hills.

Osmund came running over the moment he saw they'd returned, and Melora handed him the bedroll, asking him to take the berries to Mother Giselle for distribution, sending Varric and the blankets along too.  Bull and Cassandra made for the far end of the crossroads, where a hunter could see to the cooking and distribution of the meat, and the preservation of the skins.  All four of them were bloody and stinking, and completely exhausted from the day's work.  Osmund returned quickly with a bucket of water and soap, chattering at Melora as she cleaned her hands and face.  He followed her around the camp, barely stopping to take a breath, running off only briefly when she asked him to fetch water so her friends could clean off, too.  He'd been talking to the others in camp, learned that people were calling her the Herald of Andraste, and could scarcely contain his excitement at the idea that the he knew the Herald, that she had spared his life.

Melora stopped by each fire, crouching down and offering a tiny knitted dog to every small child she saw, giving them directly into grasping little fingers, or leaving them with a parent for those children too shy to take them from her, or for those who were already asleep.  When she had gone to each campfire, every child in camp equipped with a wee mabari, she had one little dog left, and she turned to Osmund, who was still talking in a rush of words.  She pressed the last one into his palm.

"What's this for?" he said, blinking.

"You're Fereldan, aren't you?" she asked.

"Yes, Your Worship," he beamed.  "Jader's just the other side of the border, but I'm Fereldan through and through."

"Then you need a mabari pup to keep you company.  And it's not 'your worship' to my friends.  Please.  Just 'Melora.'"

"Melora," he repeated, smiling at being called her friend.  "Thanks."

Melora gave him a little nod and said, "You're welcome.  Good night."

"Hey wait--"

"Yes?"  She turned back to him, stifling a weary sigh.

"Are you… are you gonna take me with you?  When you leave again, I mean?"

Melora frowned, and then she shook her head.  "I can't take you with me, Ossie.  The things I have to do... It's too dangerous.  I fight demons almost every day, and you're too young to have passed your Harrowing yet."

"Demons?"  He looked uncertain, but then he puffed up his chest.  "I'm good with danger, though!  I made it all the way here from Jader!"

"I know.  Which is why you're going to accompany Mother Giselle back to Haven.  That's where the Inquisition is based.  You'll look after her for me, won't you?"

Osmund shook his head sadly.  "But… you're not going back there, are you?"

"Not yet, but you'll see me there before too long.  I have some things I need to finish up here, but I have to go back to Haven from time to time."

He looked as if he was about to cry.  "What if you don't come back?  You said it's dangerous.  You're even smaller than I am!"

Melora gave a soft sigh, and then she looked down at her hands, stripping off her gloves.  "Look," she said, holding out her left hand to him.  Her mark glowed dimly in the twilight.  "See this?  Andraste gave this to me.  She saved my life once already.  She chose me to help.  I don't know why, but she did.  And she's not going to let anything happen to me, understand?"

Osmund stared down at her mark, and then he nodded solemnly, clutching the little dog in his hand.  "You _are_ the Herald of Andraste."

"Yes, Ossie.  And the Herald of Andraste is really, really tired from killing sheep.  Go see if Mother Giselle needs any more help with the food and the refugees, alright?  Good night."

Before he could reply, Melora turned away, leaving Osmund watching her go.  She did not notice the Iron Bull, long since returned from cleaning up and delivering the meat to the hunter.  He stood at the edge of the camp as she had given out the little knitted mabari, and he had not taken his eye from her.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Melora could not suppress the grin on her face, cheeks already hurting, positively quivering with excitement.  She clutched the cloth-wrapped package to her chest, fingers gripping the contents tightly, tracing over the hard shapes beneath the fabric.  She hurried past the stables and toward the front gates of Haven, footsteps quick on the snow-speckled dirt path.

"Hey, boss!"  She heard Bull's voice calling her just as she passed his tent, and she drew to a halt, turning to see him ducking out from under the tent flap.

"Hey, Bull," she said, smiling broadly.

"You look like you're about to burst.  Can't tell whether you need to pee or you're just excited.  Whatcha got there?"

Somehow, she grinned even wider, walking back over to him, trying to keep herself from bouncing with glee.  "You want to see?"

Bull smirked down at her and nodded, unfurling his fingers toward her and urging her on.

Melora handed him the bundle.  Bull pulled the bit of twine off, holding it in one hand as he unwrapped it with the other to reveal a leather belt and matching scabbards, and in it, two beautiful silverite daggers, their pommels each a sphere of gleaming orange summer stone.  Beside it was a set of plain leather scabbards and much simpler daggers.

"Pretty fancy for something to cut your dinner," he said, pulling one ornate dagger from its scabbard and testing the edge with his thumb.

"You really don't know what they're for?"

Bull shook his head, and Melora held out her hand to take the dagger from him.  He handed it to her, raising an eyebrow with interest.  Melora looked around until she spied a good target: a large rock a dozen paces away, toward the frozen lake.  She glanced back at him, teeth flashing white in the early morning light, and she pointed the dagger at the rock, whispering under her breath.  A burst of flame leapt from the blade's tip and engulfed the rock, which burst into pieces with a loud crack, spraying shards of stone all around.

"What the…"  Bull took a step back, staring wide-eyed.

Melora pressed her free hand to her mouth, giggling behind her fingers and said, "I talked to the weaponsmith and had him put a magical focus in some blades.  I don't have to carry a big old staff all the time anymore!  It's more powerful than casting without a staff, but far less bulky, and easier to use to cut straps off armor than a staff blade.  And…"  Her grin turned positively fiendish, eyes gleaming as she looked down at the dagger in her hand, her gaze lovingly tracing its form.  "Because the whole damned thing acts as a focus, I can get behind someone, jam a blade in a soft bit, twist, and cast at the same time.  It's one thing to take a blast of flame to the skin… but I'm pretty sure it'll _really_ ruin someone's day to have their kidneys set on fire."

Bull stared down at her, mouth open, and then he burst out laughing.  "That is _horrible_.  I love it!  Wait, do you even know where someone's kidneys are?"

Melora shook her head and shrugged.  "I'm almost certain whatever I set on fire is not going to be much fun, but…"

Bull handed her the rest of the bundle and stepped behind her, bending his knees and stooping low.  Melora looked back over her shoulder, her expression quizzical, but then he felt his thumbs pressing into her flesh, digging in midway down her back.  "Here, and here," he said, his voice low, his mouth close to her ear, and he pressed even harder into her back, almost painfully, until she gasped and he relented, rubbing at the sore spots with his thumbs gently.  "But if you manage to get someone in the kidney, you're not going to need to a spell to kill them.  They'll go down screaming, fire or not."

She stood unmoving, clutching the daggers in her hands, breath drawn through parted lips, and it took her longer than it should have to say, "Maybe… But fire is more fun."

"Fire is more _brutal_ ," he said, and his hands were still on her, his fingers curling over her ribs.  His hands were so big, spanning so much of her, and she was intensely aware of how close his fingertips were to brushing the bottom of her breasts.   He spoke slowly to her, tone rough and deep and incredibly distracting. "Is that what you want?  To be brutal?  To make people hurt?  To not just kill but to annihilate?  You use those little knives of yours and go for the kidneys, you're going to end up bathed in the blood of your enemies.  You're going to be sticky with it, stinking of it, blood in your hair and splashed in your mouth when your breath comes hard during a tough fight.  You ready to taste someone else's death on your lips?"

Melora sucked in a quavering breath and then gave a shaky nod.  "I have to kill," she murmured, turning her face toward his, her cheek brushing against his.  His beard was rough and prickly on her skin, and she had to resist the urge to lean against him, to caress his face with her own.  "I never wanted to, but it's not something I got to choose.  But I must do it.  Demons.  Creatures.  People.  So I may as well learn to enjoy it.  To _love_ it.  And I'd damn well better be good at it, because it's either that, or be dead."

Bull released her then, taking a step back, and she felt a sudden breath of cold upon her back at his absence.  "Good," he said, and she could hear the smile, the _pride_ in the word.  "Very good.  I like your attitude."

She did not turn yet, and Bull asked, "So what's the other set for, then?"

She looked down at them, clutching them to her chest, almost fumbling and dropping them.  "Um, they're, ah… practice blades.  Same weight and balance as the others, but blunted for sparring.  I was thinking of asking Cassandra--"

"Not me?"

Melora half turned, looking at him over her shoulder curiously.  "I just figured… you're stuck with me so much on the road...  I didn't want to bother you."

Bull chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest.  "You got time now?"

She nodded emphatically, and Bull extended a hand, gesturing toward the practice field.  

Most of Cullen's recruits were off at breakfast, nobody around but a few people hanging around the stables and smithy.  They had the field to themselves.  Melora hurried to keep up at Bull's side, having to break into a jog to keep up with his easy lope, but it was a pace she'd grown used to on the road, spending so much time at his side.

The training dummies were nothing but wood posts with a crossbar, draped in an old sack stuffed with straw.  One of the recruits had carved goofy faces on them, one smiling, one with its tongue sticking out, one looking angry, with swirls carved on the top of its head and a scar over the corner of its mouth.  Bull stopped in front of the angry one and then turned to her.  "Alright," he said.  "We've gone over the basics of fighting with a small blade already.  Now it's a matter of teaching your muscles how to do all of it without you even thinking.  You take too long sizing someone up mid-battle, you'll be dead.  You're going to have to count on your mind to already know what to do before you consciously are aware of it, and your muscles to kick in and make it happen.  We're gonna work some sequences with our quiet friend here and a single blade, just to get your form right, get you used to how to move and warmed up, and then you're gonna try 'em on me and try to keep hold of your weapon, and not get knocked on your ass in the dirt."

Melora grinned, putting down the fancier daggers and unsheathing one of the practice ones.

"Oh, and one more thing.  No magic.  None.  Not just because I like my nipples uncauterized… though that's a lot of it.  But… I can't teach you how to use those two together, and I'm not even gonna try.  That, you'll have to figure out on your own, or find someone else who fights like you do."

She tilted her head, looking up at him.  "Are there other people who fight like I do?  We've only faced down a few mages, and those were mostly escaped from the Circles, or hedge mage apostates.  Staves and grimoires and thwacking things with a stick when they're too exhausted to cast anymore."

Bull gave a shrug.  "'Tiny mage who likes stabbing things' doesn't seem to be a recognized discipline the way you'll find people trained as arcane warriors or, I dunno, necromancers and shit.  I'll bet there's more than a few apostates who don't carry a staff because it's too conspicuous, though, and have learned some hand-to-hand type stuff or small blades.  And, uh…" He rubbed at the back of his neck.  "She'll deny it left and right if you ask her, but one of the Chargers, Dalish… she uses a bow as a focus.  Damn good with the bow, too, and so subtle with her magic you can watch her while she's doing it and have no idea it's happening."

Melora's eyes went wide.  "So she uses her bow kind of like my dagger?"

Bull nodded.  "Yeah, I guess.  In that neither of them's a staff, and a decent way of getting someone dead even without magic.  If you can get your hands on some peach brandy, you might just be able to bribe her into talking to you about it."

Melora laughed softly and then gave a little nod.  "I'll talk to Leliana and Varric, see if either of them can get their hands on peach brandy.  Circle mages are not taught combat, certainly not how to use their staves for anything other than casting, and even the spells we're taught, at least at the lower levels… It's all making ice cream even on a hot day, or making tiny little dancing flames to light candles.  Busy work.  All the big stuff, the useful stuff that can maim and kill… we're not allowed.  And certainly not given anything more dangerous than a knitting needle."

"Well, maybe Dalish can help you out, then.  But for now, you're gonna work on Grumpy here."

Melora grinned excitedly and twisted her head from side to side, hearing the satisfying crackle in her neck, and then they got to work.

Bull walked her through the first sequence to use on a lightly armored opponent: neck, arm, knee, and stood back watching her, correcting her form, explaining how to put more power into her thrusts, constantly reminding her not to drop her shoulder and to stay light.  She was a quick learner, and as the sun climbed into the sky, burning off the mist of the morning, she started to sweat with the effort.  She stripped off her coat, throwing it aside in the dirt, blouse sticking to her sweat-damp skin.  She could feel Bull's gaze on her, studying her every move, and her cheeks grew pink as much from his watching her as from exertion, far too aware of how the thin, cream-coloured linen of her blouse became transparent when wet, nothing underneath the fabric clinging close to her body.

"Let's change it up a bit.  Throat, belly, and groin.  Two slashes and a stab.  Extend your arm, not your body or you'll be off balance when you go for the throat.  Move between the two slashes smoothly - one big arc.  Got it?"

Melora gave a quick nod, and then started the new sequence.  Bull corrected her again, and again, his voice calm and patient, even as she kept going up on her tiptoes for the first slash over and over.

"Alright, alright," he said finally, shaking his head.  "Different approach.  Come at me, same sequence.  Throat, belly, groin.  Go!"

She bent her knees and launched herself at him, trying but failing to keep from going up on her tiptoes for the first slash.  As soon as she did, in a flash, he delivered a strike with the heel of his hand to her shoulder, sending her twisting to one side as she fell to the ground, dagger skittering from her fingers.  She lay face down in the dirt, coughing for breath, air knocked out of her.  Bull looked down at her, hands on his hips, and said, "That's why you don't stretch up.  You've got no power behind it, and all it takes is a little shove and you're on the ground with a sword coming down in your guts."

Melora retrieved the dagger, rolled onto her back, and glared at him, but he just laughed.  "Hey, you don't get to be pissed about learning a lesson.  You do that in a real fight, you end up dead, and that's a lot harder lesson than getting your clothes dirty."

He extended a hand to her, and she took it, Bull pulling her to her feet.  Still holding onto his hand, she slashed across the line of his neck just under his jaw with her dagger, the blunt edge leaving his skin unmarked.  His eye went wide but before she could step back, he caught her wrist with his other hand, pulling it behind her back and twisting, the dagger falling from her fingers to the dirt.

He leaned down and grinned at her, still holding her tight with both hands.  "Nice try, boss.  Very nice.  But you get in close like that, you get back out, you don't stay to gloat."

"If I got in close like that with a sharp edge, you'd be too busy pouring blood down your front to shove me down."

He released her and took a step back.  "That's probably true, but say I had a helmet on, or a gorget.  Your blade would glance off, and then what?"

"I'd be an idiot for trying to slash at your neck in the first place.  You said this was for lightly armored.  Heavier armor, should go through gaps in the armor, or better yet, from the back."

He laughed softly.  "Good girl.  You're learning.  Alright, let's try it again.  Pick up your weapon, come at me, try not to end up in the dirt."

Five, ten, then twenty times, she was thrown down.  Every time, she got up, dusted herself off, and tried again, until she was filthy with dirt, drenched in sweat, and red-faced with exertion.  But the twenty-first time, she kept her feet flat, extending arm and shoulder high and bringing the blade's blunted edge high across the side of his neck, the slash continuing in an arc down his chest to the top edge of his belt, and then a short, abrupt thrust at his crotch, the tip of the blade stopping just before touching the front of his trousers.

The look on his face was worth every fall, every bruise, every bit of the dirt caked on her clothing.  He stared down at her, wide-eyed, and then took a step back, chuckling with pride.  "Good!  Yes!  Especially the stopping before stabbing me in the dick.  Thanks for that."

"No problem," Melora said with a smile, lowering her blade.  But before it was even down at her side, Bull moved in a flash, sweeping her legs from under her.  

She landed flat on her back, groaning, staring up at him in confusion.

"Just so you don't get cocky," he said, smirking down at her.

"Hey, I could've gotten _cocky_ , but I stopped that thrust short.  Maybe next time I won't."

Bull snorted a laugh and helped her back up.  "Yeah, yeah, fair enough.  Sorry.  Hey, you need a break?  Getting tired?"

She flashed him a bright smile and shook her head.  "I could go all day."

"Heh, alright then.  How about we try something a little different?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Well," Bull said, a fiendish twinkle in his eye, "You remember that thing we talked about at camp one evening?  How about we try that?"

"You're going to let me climb you?"  Her excitement was impossible to hide.

Bull laughed and shook his head.  "Well, let's try to keep you in one piece for now.  I go and break the Herald, people are gonna be pissed.  But yeah, why not?  Come here, let me pick you up.  I think I've got a pretty good idea of how much you weigh from pulling your ass up out of the dirt so many times today, but…"  He made a beckoning motion with one hand.

Melora needed no more encouragement than that, and she flung her practice dagger aside at the foot of the grumpy-faced dummy, all but bouncing forward to stand within Bull's reach.  He gave her an amused look and then bent his knees, hunkering down to place one hand on either side of her waist, encircling her easily, as he had before showing her the location of her kidneys.  But this time, his grip was not painful, his hands on her firm but gentle, fingers splayed against her back, thumbs on her ribs.  Inexplicably, Melora found herself remembering being laced into a corset for formal occasions when visiting her family, that same familiar feeling of awareness of every breath and movement.

"You ready?" he asked, his voice soft with her so close.

Maker's breath, she'd never been more ready for anything.

Melora gave a nod, and Bull lifted her up off the ground, looking into her eyes as he did.  "Hmm, yeah," he said, "You weigh about what I thought you would.  Maybe a little less, actually.  You sure you don't have any dwarf or elf in you?  You're really small, even for a human."

"The rest of my family is pretty tall.  I'm the odd one," she replied with a grin, boots dangling above the dirt.  

"You alright with this?" Bull asked, and Melora wondered if she wasn't imagining the motion of his thumbs rubbing against her ribs as he held her steady in front of him.

"Higher?" she asked, smiling.

"Heh, sure," he said, and he lifted her to the full reach of his arms.  He looked up at her, head tilted slightly, that damn eyebrow arched again, like a question or a challenge.  And then, with no warning at all, Bull tossed her up into the air, just a little, and he spun her so that she faced away from him, catching her around the waist, his grip firm.

Melora made a high, wordless noise of surprise, and then another when he dipped his shoulders and sat her on his right horn.  Her eyes wide, she grabbed hold of the upturned end of his horns to steady herself, her feet on his chest, trying to get her balance.

"This high enough for you?" Bull rumbled, turning his eye up toward her.

Her response was delighted laughter, and she kicked her feet, heels of her boots drumming against his chest.  He wrapped one arm around her legs to help steady her, and to stop her kicking him.

Melora looked down at him from where she sat, smiling from ear to ear.  "You could really make a killing charging for rides up here."

Bull rolled a shrug, the motion making his head dip a little to the side.  Melora's stomach twisted at the slight drop, and simultaneously, she felt a rush of excitement flare in her.  It felt just a bit dangerous despite her confidence that Bull would not let her fall, and that element of risk brought a fresh flush of colour to her cheeks and a glittering to her eyes.  It was silly to feel this way.  She faced danger all the time, people and demons trying to kill her.  But that was necessary and unavoidable.  This was just fun.

His hand wrapped over her legs, so big his palm easily spanned both her knees, fingers resting on her thighs, helping to hold her steady.  "Nah.  You pay me well enough that I don't need a parade of asses rubbing against my horns all day."

"I am not saying a word," Melora replied, snickering.  After a pause, she asked, "So, um… could I try standing on your horns?"

Bull chuckled, and Melora rocked with the motion of his head as he nodded.  "Yeah, sure.  Just… they're pointy, so if you fall, go front or back, not to the sides, or we'll have a really interesting injury to explain to the healers."

For a moment, Melora just sat there, trying to figure out the best way to go about it, fighting her way back to thinking through it carefully, rather than just being delighted at the entire situation.  Eyes narrowing, she brought up her left leg, careful not to kick Bull in the face.  She rested the arch of her foot against the curve of his left horn, foot flexing in her boot to fit the shape.  She had to put her hand on the top of his head so she could lift herself and get her other foot in place on his right horn.  The surface of his horns were smoother than she'd expected, with very little friction against the soles of her boots despite their craggy appearance, and she took her time making sure her feet weren't going to slip.

She crouched there, steady with both palms on top of his head.  She hadn't realized till then that he even had any hair, so dark and cropped so short that it blended into the dark grey of his horns.  It was also surprisingly soft and fuzzy, and Melora had to resist the urge to skim her hand over it again, like velvet and warm with his skin beneath.

"You just enjoying the view from up there, or what?" he asked, when she still hadn't moved.

"Watching out for low-flying birds," she said, and then she took a deep breath and straightened her legs.  She held her arms out to her sides, wheeling to keep her balance.  Then she had it, holding steady.  Melora smiled broadly, resisting the urge to do anything else, for fear of sending herself tumbling to the ground far below.

Bull had stilled his normal slight, constant movement, but she still found it dizzying being up so high.  "You alright up there?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied, and she let herself look around.  The morning light glinted off the surface of the frozen lake near the sparring grounds, the surrounding rocky hills gleaming white with snow.  A faint mist hung over the ground, still not quite burned off by the sun.  She was not cold, but the sight and the excitement of the moment made her shiver a little.  She took another deep breath and asked, "This alright for you?"

"You don't weigh any more than a nug.  I'm fine."  There was a smile in his voice.  "You want me to try walking a little?"

Her heart thudded harder in her chest and she said, "Sure.  I like a challenge."

"Remember, don't fall to the sides, _please,_ " Bull reminded her, and then he took a very slow step forward.  Melora held her arms out at her sides, knees loose, and compensated easily for the movement.  He took another, and another.

Her thighs were warm with exertion, and correcting with small motions for the movement, but feeling steady despite the slight rock and dip of his horns beneath her feet.  He increased his pace until he was loping along at his normal walking speed in a wide circle around the hard-packed dirt, with the tiny Herald balanced atop his horns.  

"You seem to be doing pretty well up there," Bull said, having already made one full circuit of the sparring area.

Melora grinned.  "It's actually not too difficult.  Feels a lot like standing in the stirrups on horseback.  Just have to feel the rhythm beneath you, move with it, do the opposite."

Bull laughed softly.  "I'll have to take your word for it.  They don't make horses in my size."

"I don't know about that.  Some of the bigger draft horses could make a fine mount for you."  Melora tried not to get too distracted at the mental image of Bull sitting astride a fine shire horse, but she could not afford to let her mind wander, in spite of the pleasant idea of that much powerful muscle all in one place.

Bull slowed and came to a gradual stop in the middle of the sparing ground.  "Alright," he said, "What next?"

"Should I see if I can get down by myself?"

"Actually, I have another idea," he said, and he raised an upward facing palm level with the top of his head, just in front of his face.  "Step into my hand.  Keep your ankles together.  I'll hold you steady."

Melora did as she was told, hopping into his hand onto her right foot, bringing her left next to it with her legs together.  Bull's other hand curled around both her ankles, holding them tight.  And then, he was supporting her whole weight around her ankles, bringing the other hand from under her feet to wrap around her calves.

"Keep yourself standing, upright. Don't flop or go limp, but I don't want you tensing up either.  Feel how tight your muscles are right now and keep them that way. You got it?"

"Yes," she said, though her voice shook with excitement. "I'm good."

"You trust me?"

Melora gave a quick little nod and said, "I do."

"Good. Then... Well, I don't think I've ever said _this_ before, but... try not to scream."

Melora opened her mouth to reply, but she was already falling, feeling the tug of the earth dragging her down.  But his hands were still on her legs, holding her tight in his grasp, and she squeezed her eyes shut, letting herself fall.  Cullen's words echoed in her mind for an instant… " _Aren't you in the least worried that he's an assassin, sent to kill you and destroy the Inquisition before it has barely begun?_ "  The Iron Bull could easily dash her head against the ground right now.  There wasn't even anyone around to see it, and he could toss her body behind a snowbank and be long gone from Haven before they'd even found her.  It would be so easy.

But she did not hit the ground.  Instead, he swung her by the ankles in an arc at his side, blood rushing to her head as he wheeled her upside down through the air.  The end of her braid whipped the dirt, sending up a puff of dust.  She opened her eyes, the world blurring as she came back up.  He let go, her momentum carrying her up without his grip on her.  She felt a rush of fear, weightless for an instant and then falling again, her stomach dropping as her body did.

And then, his arms were around her, scooping her out of the air, one around her back and the other under her knees, moving with her so that she landed lightly in his arms.  For a few moments, she could only blink in astonishment, lips parted and breathless, looking up into Bull's smiling face.  Her heart was pounding hard, thundering in her ears.

Melora could not help herself, and she burst out laughing.  "Oh, Maker's balls, that is _brilliant_!" she cackled, kicking her feet delightedly.

"Yeah, it does look like fun.  Alright, my turn.  You pick me up now."  Bull gave her a fiendish smirk.

The gleam in his eye made Melora suddenly very aware that he still held her.  His arms around her were immense, incredibly firm, the contours of his muscles pressed against her body, and he seemed as relaxed as if she weighed nothing at all.  She looked away from his face, trying to suppress the warmth that was already spreading across her cheeks, but her eyes settled instead on his broad, scar-slashed chest.  One dark grey nipple was remarkably close to her face, and in the back of her mind she wondered how sensitive his nipples were, what he would do if she flicked her tongue across it.  She sucked in a sharp breath at the thought, but the air brought with it the scent of him: warm leather and metal, and something she could not place, a deep tang like fresh blood.  She flushed bright red and turned away, trying desperately to keep him from noticing.

She knew she must have failed to hide it when he gave a low, rolling chuckle.  She felt the sound as much as she heard it, a rumbling that sank into the pit of her belly and twisted.  She wondered exactly what shade of red she must be now, even the tops of her ears burning.

Finally, Bull released her, setting her upright on her feet.  He took a step back and tilted his head, looking down at her curiously.  "You alright there, boss?"

Melora nodded slowly, breathing through parted lips.  "I, um… I…"

He grinned and peered closer at her.  "Did I break you?"

She managed to shake her head, and a few loose strands of her hair fell across her cheek.  She flicked her eyes at him through the veil of hair, giving him a nervous, sheepish smile, her eyes widening when Bull reached up and pushed her hair back, tucking it behind her ear with one finger, just barely brushing her skin.  He was still looking at her, a teasing little twist at the scarred corner of his mouth as he awaited her answer.  He was so maddeningly smug, so deliciously close, and so painfully beautiful it made her chest feel tight.  That damned _smirk_ of his!  

Before she could stop herself, she stretched up on her tiptoes, planting a tiny kiss on his cheek, just over the scar at the corner of his mouth.  Immediately after she'd done it, she felt panic welling up in her, clawing at her insides.  Oh, Andraste's tits, _why_?!

Bull's smirk turned bewildered when she blurted, _"WellgreatthanksgotHeraldingtodobye!"_ and turned and fled, soles of her boots slapping the hard ground.  He just barely heard her say, "Oh shit!" and she turned and jogged back, picking up her daggers from the dirt, refusing to meet his gaze.  Her cheeks were bright pink, shining with a nervous sweat, and she flicked her eyes up to him for only the tiniest instant before she was off again, heading back through the gates of Haven, leaving Bull standing in the middle of the sparring ground.  

After she had disappeared behind the gates, he laughed, shaking his head as he followed the way she had gone.  He was still smirking.


	8. Chapter 8

The hours of the day had seemed impossibly long, an exhausting ordeal pushing further into the farmlands of the Hinterlands.  Everywhere, they found bandits and wild animals, and Melora had collected a canine tooth from each hungry wolf they'd slain, much to the disgust of Cassandra.  She left the bandit's teeth where they were, trying not to look at the faces of the dead men who lay at their feet when the battle was done.  Maker, so many dead men, so many dead at her own hand.  So many died screaming with the fear she placed in their hearts their last memory, or howling in agony at the flame she placed in their bellies with the tip of her daggers.

Bull had been right.  She had ended up drenched in their blood.  It had soaked through her clothes to her skin, drenched her hair, sticky between her fingers.  She stank of it, a sharp reek that turned her stomach and made her feel like retching most of the day.  The others seemed more accustomed to the stink, even able to stop for lunch under the baking sun.  Melora had eaten nothing, just laid down in a shady spot beneath a tree and closed her eyes until Varric tapped her shoulder and told her it was time to go.

They had given all of the men a chance.  Her order had been obeyed, and until weapons were raised against them, she and her friends had not attacked.  It was a thought that gave her a small measure of comfort as she still heard the echo of some of them weeping for their mothers before they died.

Melora had stood over the body of one, staring down at his unblinking gaze.  Flies were beginning to crawl in and out of his open mouth, blood drying on his face.  But it was the eyes that she could not stop looking at.  She could see her reflection in them, her hair glowing like a halo around her, her face pale, mirroring the fear she saw on the dead man's face.  The last thing he'd seen before he died had been her.  Her, as she jammed her daggers under the edges of his armor and filled his guts with fire.

Bull had pulled her away, his hand gentle on her shoulder.  She'd expected reassuring words.  How the bandits had attacked them.  How they'd had to defend themselves, had no choice.  But instead, Bull had kept his hand there on her shoulder and told her to keep one dagger sheathed the next fight, and to boost herself up onto his back and use the other as a focus for ranged spells.  She'd sprayed a blast of flames at a pack of wolves, resulting in the stink of burning fur and the whole pack scattering for the hills, leaving Varric to pick them off one by one.  

After that, they started trying different things: having her jump from his horns to deliver a forceful blow with her dagger from above.  She'd combined that one with an ice spell and shattered a rage demon so thoroughly that they had all stood staring in disbelief at the bits scattered at her feet, and she'd almost forgotten to close the damned rift still pulsating in the air above them.  As the day wore on and they all grew more tired, Bull distracted her further by working on a set of simple gestures he could use as commands to direct her in battle, and by critiquing her technique in the previous battle.  Despite her growing set of scrapes and bruises and the smell clinging to her, she found she was actually starting to enjoy herself.  He'd been cracking stupid jokes, making puns, and doing everything he could to make her laugh all afternoon, so that by the time the sun was setting and they made camp, her cheeks were sore from smiling.

She'd unpacked the bedrolls and cleared the ground for a firepit, Varric setting rocks around it while Bull headed off to gather wood for a fire.  Melora's shadow stretched long before her as she took their waterskins in hand and headed in the direction of a stream-fed pond she'd seen earlier, bar of soap tucked in her pocket and a change of clothes folded under her arm.

She reached the pond and lay the waterskins down on a flat rock by the water and then set about stripping off her stinking clothes.  Her right shoulder was sore and tender, probably from getting thrown back against a tree by one of the bandits, and she sucked air through her teeth trying to get her tunic up over her head.  Her body was covered with constellations of bruises and several deep scrapes, long since crusted over.  But she knelt at the water's edge and washed her clothes first, swishing them in the cool, clear water, watching the little fish that lived in the pond first scatter and then return, nibbling at little bits of flesh washed out of her leather overcoat.  When she'd gotten the worst of it, she wrung out the water, her hands aching, and laid her clothes over the sun-warmed rocks to dry.

Only then did she slip into the water herself, moving step by slow and careful step on the smooth, slippery rocks lining the pond.  Though the pond was shallow, she was small, and she was able to sink to her knees, the water up to her neck, cool and clean and _wonderful_ after such a strenuous day.  She let out her braid and tipped her head into the water too, letting her hair billow behind her, clouding the water with dirt, sweat, and blood.

Melora just let herself relax, floating, arms outstretched on the surface, only her face uncovered.  A few little fish, curious and unafraid, nibbled at the frayed flesh on the edges of her fingertips, the sensation a strange but not unpleasant tickle.  She breathed slow and deep and her mind began to relax too, the sounds of the water soothing, overlaid with muffled birdsong.  She gazed up at the sky, wisps of violet clouds drifting across a background of fading pinkish-orange, and she let herself exhale the tension from her body and mind.  

The light was beginning to wane when she finally waded back to the edge of the water, retrieving her bar of soap and began smoothing it over her bruised, aching skin, working it into her hair, the scent of the soap a pleasant change from the stink of blood that had been clinging to her.  Wet, soapy water ran down her body, dripping from her hair, and she hummed to herself as she worked it into the length of her hair, combing the tangles out with her fingers.

There was a rustle of leaves, the crack of a breaking twig, and she looked up to see Bull coming up the path toward the pond, a bundle of twigs and logs tucked under one arm.  He saw her just as she saw him, and she made a tiny noise of surprise, the soap slipping from her fingers and disappearing beneath the surface of the water.  She froze, unable to react, to even cover herself, completely uncovered but for the veil of her wet hair over one shoulder to her waist.

Bull drew to an abrupt stop, blinking with surprise, and then he dropped his gaze to the ground, chuckling nervously.  "Ah, _shit_ , sorry.  I didn't realize you'd be… sorry, I'll be going, boss."  He turned on his heel and hurried back the way he'd came, disappearing into the trees.

Melora watched him go with wide eyes, frozen in place with her hands in her hair, unable to move or even react for several breaths.  Then she sank back down into the water with a splash, the bar of soap forgotten.  She swore under her breath, closing her eyes.  Her cheeks felt warm despite the cool water, and she covered her face with both hands, groaning with embarrassment.  She was going to have to face him back at camp, to see his damned smug smirk, to know that he was picturing her naked and that he'd immediately fled in the other direction.

But what else might he have done?  Surely he wouldn't have just waded in with her.  He'd been giving her privacy, letting her finish her bath in peace.  To do anything else would have been at the least rude and presumptuous, especially as he did not know…

Oh, Maker, she could scarcely admit it to herself, but it was true.  She wanted him, even though she could not fathom what that might actually mean.  And the very idea of it seemed absurd, impossible.  He was magnificent, so brilliant that he seemed to shine from within, so achingly beautiful that she found it hard to look directly at him sometimes, like staring into the sun.  And from what she'd heard, he'd visited innumerable beds across Thedas, spending time with so many different people.  Surely he'd had far better than a shy, skinny little mage who could barely finish a sentence without stammering, whose most interesting feature was the shining mark on her hand given by a prophet of a religion he did not believe in.  How could he possibly want her, too?  

Melora let out a long, slow sigh, picturing him in her mind's eye, standing there with that surprised look on his face, all silvery scars and muscle, still blood-splattered and yet all the more beautiful for it.

Oh, but what if it _had_ gone differently?  If she'd invited him to join her, and that smile of his had been fiendish rather than sheepish?  Melora floated on her back, letting her imagination wander.  She wouldn't have had to be too obvious about it.  She could have asked him to wash her back.  She couldn't reach it herself, especially with her sore shoulder.  How would those big hands of his feel, sliding soapy and slick over her skin?  He would be thorough, of course, working over every bit of her, his hands strong and skillful, working firm yet gentle over her sore muscles, massaging out the ache until she melted back against him.

And what then, once her back was clean?  Would he continue, letting her relax against him, sliding slippery hands over her shoulders? Would he hesitate before he went further, or would he be bold, running his fingertips down her chest to cup her breasts in his palms?  She could almost hear the satisfied chuckle he would make at her reaction, the rumble of him pressed close against her.  And as she floated there in the pond, she let her own hands wander over her body, skimming over her taut nipples and down her belly.  Her fingers dipped between her legs, and she imagined they were his fingers, rougher and thicker than her own, stroking over sensitive flesh, teasing and skillful.  Would he whisper in her ear, that delicious voice of his murmuring softly to her, words of filth and praise.  Would she feel him hardening against her, wanting her as she wanted him?  Would he take her there, perhaps on one of the rocks by the waterside?  Or would he continue with one hand, fingers dipping into her, achingly slow, until she pressed her hips against him and _begged_ him?

Melora's breath came quick and ragged, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as she knelt there in the water, and when she reached her peak, his name was on her lips.

She lay floating there until the sky grew a deep, velvety blue, stars twinkling above her but soon covered over with a growing blanket of clouds.  A raindrop hit her between the eyes, and she sighed, dragging herself out of the water and collecting her still-damp clothes.  She slipped on the new set, filled the waterskins from the stream, and headed back to camp, expecting to find Bull sitting smug and grinning at her.

Instead, she found only Cassandra and Varric, and when she asked about Bull's whereabouts, Varric shrugged and replied,  "Still getting wood, I guess."

 

~*~

 

Bull's feet pulled him swiftly away from the pond, leaving the naked Herald behind him.  But the image of her was seared into his mind.  Small and slim, her skin wet and gleaming, covered in bruises from all the fighting, like flowers blooming on her body.  Her hair had been wet, too, streaming water that ran down her narrow hips to her thighs.  He'd imagined what she'd look like naked before, but the sight of her there in that secluded little pond, her small, upturned breasts tipped with nipples taut from the cold, and everywhere her skin speckled with little marks, a constellation of beauty spots.  And between her legs, a triangle of dark hair, dripping too with bright, shining water.

He'd forced his eye away, wanting to stare but knowing he couldn't.  This was not a sight he had been freely given, but stumbled onto, a stolen glimpse of her that he could try to forget, but never could.  The look in her wide eyes, lips parted in shock.  He would not take what was not offered, and he knew he was right to look away, to apologize and retreat as quickly as he could, to leave her to her bath.  But knowing it was right was little comfort.

Bull did not return to the camp.  Instead, he left the path almost as soon as he was out of sight of the pond, heading uphill into the woods.  Thorns grasped for his trousers, branches slapping at his face, and he growled and swatted them away, throwing aside the bundle of firewood he'd collected.  He climbed still, faster and faster, long legs pulling him up and up, hands reaching out to grab at saplings when he started to slip.  His horns tangled in the leaves, and he shook his head, tearing pieces of tree away, yanking them off of him and throwing them to the ground.  He swore in his native tongue, as he always did only when he was alone, and muttered angrily to himself under his breath.  

Why did he have to go that way?  He'd known she had gone up to the pond to clean off, known how fastidious she was.  He just hadn't expected she'd take off every stitch of clothing and stand naked in the water like some damned desire demon.  He hadn't thought her the sort to be that comfortable with nudity, even alone in the forest, and that he might've gotten her wrong made him even more annoyed with himself.  If he'd misread that, what else was he getting wrong?  Was he misinterpreting the glances, the blushing, her stammering when he said something filthy?  Was it discomfort and avoidance, rather than interest?  He'd tried his best not to suggest anything at _her_ , keeping away from the usual flirtations that he directed at almost everyone.  She was his employer, after all.

But the way she ducked her head and let her hair fall across her face to hide her reddening cheeks was so maddeningly _cute_ , he couldn't resist saying shit that would get that reaction out of her.  And that little kiss she'd given him, just a peck on the cheek... He hadn't misread  _that._

Bull snarled as he stumbled over a root hidden beneath the leaf litter, falling forward onto one knee, wincing at the old aches that flared with the sudden and unexpected motion.  He loathed the idea that he'd made her uncomfortable, furious with himself that his first sight of her nakedness had been accidental.

 _First sight…_  First implied a second, and he sneered at the very thought.  She may have been a Circle mage for most of her life, but she was still nobility.  And he knew what most of the nobility thought of him.  The derision and scorn they treated him with, the universal demand for secrecy he'd encountered in those who'd decided their desire to fuck him was enough of a thrill to risk it.  And besides, they called her the Herald of Andraste.  She was supposed to be some sort of damned chosen one, touched by the prophet herself.  He'd already seen the stacks of letters on Josephine's desk, snuck a peek and found the pile of marriage invitations sent for the Herald.  People who hadn't even seen her wanted to have her.  And though Melora didn't seem to notice, there were plenty who laid eyes on her and wanted to lay a lot more on her, too.  Even those who didn't know who she was, _what_ she was supposed to be.  There was something irresistible about her, a glittering in her dark eyes, like she knew a secret she was too clever to tell.  

He'd been deluding himself, he decided, as he crested the hill.  He was her bodyguard, her trainer, someone to stand between her and the demons she faced and to keep her alive.  But the idea that she wanted him… It was his imagination, clearly, and he'd be wise to put it out of his mind and forget it.

Bull sat down against a tree at the top of the hill, drawing a deep breath and closing his eye, resting his arms on his knees.  He couldn't forget it.  Couldn't forget her.  The image of her was seared into his mind, her skin covered in droplets of water illuminated by the setting sun, like she was studded with jewels.  And those bruises on her, the proof of how hard she'd fought, how well, the skills she'd developed ones he'd shown her.  What he wouldn't give to add to those bruises, marking her, _claiming_ her.

He threw his head back against the tree hard, as if to bash the thought out of his mind, the pain driving away the very idea.  He couldn't have her.  He knew that.  But the idea that he could _have_ her, not just once but… Fuck, he didn't even know what he wanted from her.

Well.  That wasn't entirely true.  

Bull knew he wanted to fuck her.  Not that it really counted for much on its own.  He wanted to fuck pretty much everyone.  But her especially, to watch her come undone with the touch of his fingers and tongue, to give her exactly what she needed.

He just didn't know if what she needed was _him_.  Fuck, how much he wished it was.  That _he_ was.  

But she was so small and sweet and kind, seemingly so damned innocent in spite of the way she wielded those sharp little blades of hers, the ferocity she displayed in battle.  All damned day, foe after foe had fallen to her, her brutality and skill astounding, even frightening.  He was damned glad she was on his side.  She'd taken to killing like it came naturally, like she was born for it.  She _enjoyed_ it, a grin on her cute little face that made her look crazed, terrifying.  Oh, after it was all done, she started shaking, so that he'd had to distract her from all the corpses, pulling her away and getting her interested in learning to be directed in combat, to follow his commands.

She was fucking great at that, too.  Never had to repeat himself, never had to work ahead to compensate for her hesitation, because she didn't hesitate.  There was no pause, not even for a moment.  She just did as he told her every damned time.

He leaned his head back against the tree, closing his eye, and a little grin spread over his mouth.  He hadn't realized till that moment just how well she obeyed him.  How quickly she jumped to do exactly as he told her.  He gave a soft laugh, and couldn't help but think what else he might command her to do.  Would she be so unhesitating if he growled, " _On your knees, bas-saarebas_ ," in her ear?

 _Boss-saarebas_. He laughed at loud at that.  Did that make him her _arvaraad_?  His hand slipped from his knee, up his thigh, and he bucked his hips against his hand, already hardening at the thought.   _Arvaarad saartoh-saar ebasit, bas-saarebas.  Itwasit tal mashaar._

Oh, to see those big, pretty eyes go wide, her sweet lips parting to take him in her mouth…  Bull reached beneath the bottom edge of his belt, untying the drawstring on his trousers, and slipped them down to his hips, freeing his cock and taking it in hand.

Not her mouth.  Not with her on her knees.  He wanted that, too, but she was so nervous and blushing… Not that it wouldn't be damn cute to see a blush spreading across her cheeks while she was sucking him off, but he'd much rather she be relaxed and enjoying herself.  Focusing on her.

What would that slim little body look like beneath him?  All those scrapes and bruises on her like badges of honor, of bravery, the worst of them turning to shiny pink scars against her speckled skin.  To see the intensity in her eyes she had in battle, that little grin of hers as she tipped her face up to invite a kiss.  She would be so soft and yielding, tentative and shy at first… But only at first, pressing in against him eagerly, flicking her tongue against his lips like a question, or an invitation.

Would her legs part at the touch of his hand on her thigh?  Would he find her already wet and ready for him?  Or would he take her hand and place it there instead of his, sitting up to watch her, to tell her what to do to herself?  Yes, that was it.  He could watch her touch herself, to whisper in her ear exactly what she should do, brushing his own hand over her lightly, making her arch against him, her breath coming faster, eyes fluttering closed.

Bull gave a low sound where he sat, stroking his cock firmly in his fist, while he watched her in his mind.  Would she be silent, too self-conscious to make a sound, nothing but a soft panting of breath?  Or would she moan when she was close, a low sound drawn from her lips unbidden?  Or perhaps a whimper, a whine, unable to relax enough to come?  Yes, that sounded like her, so wound and tense.  He would have to command her to relax, to place his hand over hers and slow her down, to show her how to tease herself slow, till she was so desperate to tip over the edge, it would take only a murmur of praise, the slide of his cock against her leg.  She would come undone, arching and twisting, tipping her head back. Would she cry out for her god, for the Maker?  Or would she cry out for _him_?

That thought was enough to send Bull over the edge.  " _Ah, fuck!_ " he groaned, his seed spilling onto his fingers, splattering the dry fallen leaves upon which he sat.

He didn't move at first, just sitting with his eye closed and his head tipped back against the tree.  Then he sighed, opening his eye and blinking, the sky having grown dark.  He slapped a mosquito on his arm, and immediately regretted it, having used the wrong hand to do it.  He grumbled and rubbed his arm and hand on his trousers, already so stained with blood and dirt, and pulled his trousers up and tucked them back beneath his belt.  

With another deep breath, Bull pushed himself up off the ground and started back down the hill, the harness over his shoulder creaking as he walked and stooped to pick up another armload of fallen wood.  He avoided the pond on the way back, though he could really use a bath himself.  He wouldn't risk going back there until he was sure she was no longer there.  He couldn't stand to see her like that again, not with the knowledge that he could not have her.

She was waiting back at camp when he arrived, clean and wearing a fresh change of clothes, her wet hair braided and thrown over her shoulder, fingers moving swiftly over her knitting.  She avoided his gaze as he sat the bundle of wood down, and once he'd gone to bathe himself and come back again, she was already fast asleep in her bedroll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rough translation of the Qunlat that Bull was thinking toward the end: "Your keeper has your control rod here, foreign mage. Kneel and suck."


	9. Chapter 9

The Inquisition advanced, and Melora was pulled along with it.  They had secured much of the Hinterlands, bringing much-needed stability back to the area.  Farmers returned to their fields, ranchers to their herds, villagers to their homes.  The Inquisition presence increased, and teams of soldiers were sent out to repair bridges and roads, and to bury the dead.  Everywhere they went, people wanted to join them, having heard tales of their deeds.

And they wished to see the Herald.  The mark on her hand glowed ever brighter, and somehow, she glowed too in its reflected light.  Her face seemed to change, the set of her jaw harder, creases forming between her brows, eyes drawn narrow.  She gained scars, both inside and out.  So much death around her, and she was at the center of it all, a restless whirl of blades and flames.

Melora wore through the soles of her boots six times. And they stayed in no place for more than a few days, especially Haven.  Her feet pulled her back out the gates as soon as she was done conferring with the war council and her party had been resupplied.  Her friends had long since learned that complaining about her pace would do little good.

She had faced beasts and nightmares, demons and creatures so twisted that she could not look directly upon them or she would retch.  But she hit them hard with blades and magic all the same, carving into flesh until she was soaked with blood and the dead were piled at her feet.  There was no time for fear, or for being delicate about these abominations.  Fear or hesitation would mean death, and she intended to live.

The smell of death lingered around her, clinging to her no matter how many times she washed.  Every night, she journeyed to find water before she would return to eat and to sleep, cleaning her clothes, hair, body, and weapons.  She made sure now to clean herself first, to redress before cleaning the rest of her things.  She sang the Chant of Light as she scrubbed, alone but for the birds in the trees and the occasional nug or fox snuffling along the ground.

But when she woke in the morning, all she could smell was decay.  Cassandra had given her a collection of scented soaps and oils in a little wooden box for Melora to take on her travels.  But it ended up tucked in a drawer in Haven.  They did not take the stink from her, merely adding a scent that grew sickly sweet as it lingered.  Melora could barely tolerate smelling of blood and death, but it turned her stomach to smell like a funeral.

But it was the vision of the terrible future that awaited them which she could not shake.  She had met with the mages, the stories of their magic that could manipulate time itself too important to ignore.  She thought perhaps, if she could get the mages on their side, they might have a chance.  Surely if the Breach and the rifts were tears in the Veil, who better to help than those who could manipulate the Veil?  Then suddenly, everything was wrong.  She was trapped in a nightmare, the future that would happen were she to fail.  She had seen her allies twisted by the taint of red lyrium, seen the horrifying outcome of Corypheus's conquest.

And she had seen her friends die.  Varric, Cassandra, Solas… all of them, trying to hold off the demon horde, and failing.  And Bull, thrown lifeless upon the ground as the demons broke through.  The sickening crack as one of his horns splintered on the floor played over and over in her mind, the picture of his body motionless in a heap and trampled by the abominations that pursued them.  And then she had to watch Leliana, tortured and broken, sacrificing herself so that Melora and Dorian could escape.

When Melora had returned to the present, when Alexius had been defeated, she'd thrown her arms around each of them in turn, so grateful to see them alive that she could not help herself.  The hugs she got in return were confused and awkward, especially from Cassandra and Solas, though Varric had chuckled and gave her a good-natured squeeze, patting her back.  She'd come last to Bull, throwing her arms around his waist and pressing her face against his chest, and she'd had to force herself not to burst into tears at feeling his huge warm hand stroking over the back of her head, hearing the low rumble of his voice through his body as he murmured reassurances to her.

He could not understand - none of them could, save Dorian - what a terrible fate awaited them.  Even when she was awake, the images flashed through her mind: the eyes of her friends red for a moment, angry and accusing, and then she would blink and they would look as they always did.

But when she slept, the vision of that future haunted her dreams, waking her screaming, kicking, her face streaming with tears.  It had happened more than once when they were on the road, and she woke to find strong hands on her, holding her still, keeping her from throwing a leg into the embers of the campfire.  Big, gentle hands, palms against the sides of her face, soft words spoken into her ear, and eventually, her heart would stop racing, and she would drift back into a heavy, dreamless sleep.  When she woke in the morning, she was never quite sure whether that had been part of the dream as well, the memory fuzzy, the words spoken to her lost completely.  And when neither Bull nor their other travelling companions spoke of it, she had said nothing.  But when they were at Haven, when she slept alone in the little house they called hers, she had the nightmares then too, and never could fall back asleep on her own after.  She would just sit at the window, looking up at the sky, staring into the Breach until dawn.

The plans began to make a direct assault on the Breach, to seal it once and for all.  With the mages on their side, her allies believed they had a chance.  It was risky, terrifying, the long march up to the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes grueling, with so many of the bridges blasted to pieces, the roads impassable, snow piled so high that the escort of Inquisition soldiers had to shovel a narrow, single-file path just to make any forward progress.  And the closer they got, the more Melora's mark ached, shooting pains lancing up her arm, glowing green light shimmering bright in her palm.  She gritted her teeth against the pain, but by the time they finally reached the remains of the Temple, she was drenched in sweat despite the cold, and Bull offered her his arm to lean on.  "Because the snow's so deep and you've got those short little legs," he'd said with a sympathetic smile, though the snow at the top of the mountain was mostly blown into drifts, leaving bare patches that were relatively easy to traverse.

He and Cassandra stood with her as she stared up at the crystalline shards which seemed to shift and reconfigure with each passing breath, fluctuating in time with with her the throbbing in her hand.  Behind her, she heard Solas shout his direction to the mages, and then it was time.  Melora's mind reeled she stared into the tear in the Veil, feeling her sanity slipping away, and she lifted her shaking left hand.

Light burst forth from her palm, and Melora was engulfed in tendrils of Fade energy, wrapping around her limbs, her hair standing on end as she took a step forward, and another.  Pain ripped through her arm, and she faltered, stumbling to her knees, but she shoved herself to her feet, gritting her teeth, screaming in agony and anger.  She kept her hand up, though it felt like it was being wrenched from her body.  The Veil tore open around her, the sound of it deafening, so that she screamed at the top of her lungs but could not hear it.  From behind her, swirls of magic pushed her forward, and with a final anguished howl, she threw all that she had into the Breach.

The flash of light was blinding, and she felt herself thrown back, landing hard, her head bouncing off the ground.  The wind knocked out of her, ears ringing, she lay with her eyes closed, gasping for air.  Melora lay there, struggling to draw breath, her pulse the only thing she could hear, pain all she could feel.  But when she opened her eyes, she could see the sky, the clouds still swirling around the spot where the Breach had been.  It was a scar, but the wound was closed.  Gone.

It was over.

She had expected tears of relief to come then.  She thought they might when Cassandra rushed over, offering a hand to help her up.  The look on Cassandra's face, concern and wonder, awe and respect… It should have moved Melora to tears.  It should have made the tense knot in the pit of her stomach finally let go.  But it didn't.

Melora got to her feet, groaning, leaning on Cassandra.  The others had been knocked back too, some injured, and it took them a while to regroup, to begin their journey back down the mountain to Haven.  It was slow going, but it gave Melora's ears time to stop ringing, so that she could hear again.  The aches were still there, and her hand still felt as though she'd plunged it into a furnace.  She cradled it to her chest, each beat of her heart making it throb.

The knot in her stomach twisted the whole way back down to Haven, and clawed at her insides every time someone would come up beside her and slap her on the shoulder, all smiles and kind words and congratulations.  Bull stuck close by her side, and started waving them off.  She was in no condition for hearty slaps on the back, and he could see the way she shrank from them.  She had tried to respond, to offer a humble smile, but the words had died in her throat, and she'd looked up at Bull with wild, desperate eyes.

Bull's vast silhouette moved beside her in the light of the torches carried by Cullen's soldiers, huge and reassuring, his arm there to catch her when she slipped on the icy path.  He waited until there were no others around and asked quietly, so that only she could hear, "You alright, boss?"

She did not reply immediately, and when she did, she said only, "I don't know yet."

"Have a drink with me," he said.  It was not a request, his tone low and steady.  The same tone he used when he commanded her in battle, directing her with a word or a glance.  It was a tone she was accustomed to obeying without question.  Bull opened his hand and held it out to her.  

A small bottle of spirits sealed with a cork lay in his palm.  Her hand shook as she took the bottle from him, pulled the cork, and took a swig.  It _burned_ , searing her mouth and throat, settling like a fire in her belly, blanketing the twist in her guts.  She paused a moment and took another pull before handing him back the bottle, wiping at her mouth with the side of her thumb.

Bull took a drink himself before he said, "The Breach is sealed.  It's not just damage control anymore.  Someone's gotta make some decisions now.  Big ones."  He licked a droplet of the foul booze from the corner of his mouth.

"Someone's gotta step up," he added, and he looked down at her from the corner of his eye.

Melora nodded again, staring at the path ahead, trying not to stumble on rocks hidden beneath the snow.  Bull handed her back the bottle.

"Eh, who knows," he said.  "Maybe the Chantry'll get off its ass, and all these soldiers can go home and get fat."

"You think?" she asked, and her voice sounded small, as if she spoke from far away.

"It could happen.  It won't.  But it could."

She gave a dry, humourless snort and took another swig.  "Yeah.  Not likely."

"So."  He let the word hang in the air.

It stayed there as they finished the bottle in silence and entered Haven to a hero's welcome, as Bull steered the well-wishers away from her, and as Cassandra congratulated her on her bravery and heroic victory, the word was still in Melora's mind.

It stayed there as the bells began to ring, and when the screaming started.

It was still there when everything was on fire, when she faced a twisted, insane Magister and an arch-demon.

It was there, too, when the mountain came crashing down on top of her.

~*~

The Elder One only wanted her, the Herald.  The villagers of Haven were irrelevant to him.  The boy, Cole, who had showed up ahead of the army, seemed to know this innately.  Melora could not say why, but she trusted him.  So when the villagers had a chance to flee the burning ruins of Haven along the forgotten pilgrims' path behind the Chantry, she told them to go, to leave her behind.  It would buy them time.  Time enough for her to distract the archdemon, to keep the Elder One focused on her, on the mark on her hand and whatever she was supposed to be.

"Go," she said to Cullen.  "Get them out."

His eyes were full of sadness as he said, "Perhaps you can find a way out, too."

Melora gave him a faint nod, and he turned to his task, dedicated and single-minded as always, shouting orders to his soldiers.

The others stood nearby, Cassandra, Varric, and Bull ready to face death with her, weapons at the ready, resigned looks on their weary faces. But she turned to them and said, "Go with them.  Get the civilians out.  Protect them."

None of them moved.  Varric glanced to Cassandra and Bull, and he was the first to speak, shaking his head.  "Nah, I don't think so."

"We are not leaving you to do this by yourself," Cassandra said.

Bull said nothing, his arms crossed over his chest, his face stony.

"What matters is the lives of those people," Melora said.  "The barmaids and the bakers and cobblers, the farmers and cooks who have no way to defend themselves.  You can defend them.  You can keep them safe, help them get out.  But I don't have time to argue this with you.  The longer I stay in here, the less time those people have.  So you need to go, now.  For them.  Please!"

Varric looked up at Cassandra.  "We can't… we aren't doing this, are we?"

Cassandra closed her eyes for a moment before she said, "She's right.  There are hundreds of people out there and…"  She stopped, looking down at the floor, and then said only, "Come on, Varric."

Varric shook his head, sadness in his eyes, and then he followed Cassandra, leaving Bull and Melora alone in the main hall of the Chantry.

"I ain't going anywhere, boss," Bull said.  "Let's go out there and kick some archdemon ass."

"Go with them," Melora said, her voice cracking.  "They need you."

"No.  My job is to protect you.  You're not facing an archdemon and whatever that… Elder _thing_ is, alone."

"There's no telling what they will run into on that old, overgrown path.  You are the strongest of us.  They need your strength."

Bull's jaw clenched.  " _You_ need my strength.  And I'm not leaving you."

Melora squeezed her hands into fists at her sides.  "I don't have time to argue about this.  You need to go.  Dammit, Bull, there are _kids_ with the villagers.  Children.   _Babies!_  Please.   _Please_.  I have had twenty-three years of life and if it ends tonight, then it ends, but those little babies deserve to take their first steps.  Those kids deserve to have their first crush.  They deserve a chance, and you can help give them that.  Please, please, just go.  Help them!"

Bull lowered his head, his brow furrowed.  " _Crap_ ," he muttered, and then he looked back up at her.  "Alright.  Dammit, alright.  But you come back, you hear me?"

"I'll try."

"No.  Don't try.  Do it.  Decide right now you're going to live, and then you live."

She looked up at him and nodded.  "I'm going to live."

"Then I'm going to get those people out."  He turned, and he started to walk away.

Melora watched him take a few steps, the image of him turning to go burning itself into her mind.  Maker, he was so beautiful, and she didn't want this to be the last thing she remembered of him.  Her heart was pounding, and before she could stop herself, she ran up behind him.  "Bull!"

Bull turned, and she went up on her tiptoes, slipping her hand up over his shoulder, and pulled him down to her.  He bent his head to her, and she kissed him, hard, crushing her mouth to his, closing her eyes and inhaling the scent of him, hot metal and leather and blood, clenching her fingers along the back of his neck, wishing she could hold onto him.  He buried one hand in the loose hair at the base of her braid, tightening his grip on her, lips dry and harsh on hers.

When she finally drew back, there was a question in Bull's eye, and he was slow to let go of her hair, dropping his hand to his side and searching her face with his gaze.

"For… for luck," she lied.

Bull gave a tiny nod, and said only, "For luck.  You come back, Melora."  The words were a command, a plea, a prayer.  And she intended to obey.

Melora forced herself to turn, and to run out the doors of the Chantry to face her fate.

~*~

 

Melora had bought what remained of the Inquisition time.  Time to flee the burning ruins of Haven along the forgotten pilgrims' path behind the Chantry. Time enough for her to distract the Elder One and the archdemon, to keep the insane Magister rambling.  Time to stand against her foes, even as fear gripped her heart so tightly she felt as though it would shatter.

And when she saw what she had to do, that she had the means to destroy what still stood of Haven, she took it.  An unstoppable wall of snow engulfed the burning town, and her with it.  

It was only by the grace of the Maker that she was thrown into a hole, part of the old abandoned mine on the edge of the town, and only luck that meant she landed on her back instead of her head or her neck.  She'd lain there for a while, unable to move, and when she finally tried to get to her feet, she cried out in pain.  Something had happened to her right shoulder.  Dislocated or broken, she couldn't tell.  But every movement felt as though her arm was being ripped from her, and she held it close at her side, trying not to move it.  Every breath was a struggle, too, a stabbing agony in her chest on the right side.  She could hear an increasing gurgle with each rasping gasp for air.

She needed to cough, smoke from the battle still settled deep in her lungs, but she knew it would help nothing, and with her chest hurting so, she knew the pain of coughing could very well make her black out.  So she forced it back, gritting her teeth, an endless stream of profanity running through the back of her mind.

Melora had given everything to the fight, too weak to conjure light or warm herself with magical flame. She had never been so cold.  The world around her was nothing but blown snow, a relentless sea of white that pushed against her every step.  She couldn't feel her feet, dragging them forward, snow piled up to her knees.  Her hands, too, were numb, though her mark crackled and glowed.  She held it out in front of her, blocking the snow from her eyes, trying in futile hope to light her way.    

But she had no idea which way she was going.  There were no landmarks, nothing but the occasional shape of a tree or rock, quickly obscured by a shifting veil of white.  Snow crusted her body from head to toe, a freezing blanket of white that cracked and fell from her in chunks as she walked.  Her armor provided little protection from the cold, soaked through with sweat and chilling her skin.  She shivered constantly, dressed for a fight, not an endless walk in a blizzard.

Melora stumbled over something hard hidden beneath the snow and she fell forward, holding out her good arm to break her fall, trying to roll to the left.  The snow enveloped her, collapsing around her, filling her nose and ears.  

She raised her head enough to breathe and looked around.  Still nothing, just snow.  It would be so easy to just stay here, to lay down and rest, if only for a little while.  But she knew that she would never get back up.  She took several struggling, wet breaths, contemplating the idea.  Her lips moved, stiff and cold, trying to swear, and she shoved herself back to her feet, swaying.  Then she picked up her foot and took another step forward, and another, and another.

If she was to die, she was going to go down fighting, even if it was just against the stupid snow.  She'd done too much and come too far to just lay down and give up.  She'd stared into the eyes of an archdemon, and told that freakish, twisted Magister to go fuck himself.  She was damned if she was going to let some frozen water beat her.

Time passed, and Melora had no measure of it.  Her world was the cold and the wind, and each painful, aching step that brought her closer to what would surely be her death.  In her mind, she cursed the Maker for letting her survive Haven only to die here, alone in the wilderness.  Why couldn't she have fallen in the battle, her blood singing in her veins, her friends at her back?  Now their fate was sealed too, to follow that terrible future she had seen, to become twisted with the taint of red lyrium, a fate worse than death.  It would have been better for them all to die there at Haven together.

She cursed the Maker, too, for abandoning his children, for fleeing his creations, for turning away from those who needed him.  He was responsible for this, for all of it.  For the Blights, the abominations, the demons, and the madness in the world.  He could have done something, fixed this.  Instead, he left them, turned from them, perhaps forever.

_Fuck the Maker._

Her last look at Haven had been the sight of the archdemon taking to the sky, the twisted creature that had once been a man clutched in its huge claws.  And then the snow and debris covered everything, including her.  Had the rest of the Inquisition truly had time to flee, or had they been engulfed by the avalanche?  Did everyone she cared for lay dead beneath the snow already?  The idea that she might be the only one left alive, the precious Herald they had all tried so hard to protect… it was like some sick joke.  The Maker's awful sense of humour.  

She could not help her friends now, even if they were still alive.  She couldn't even help herself.  What good was this glowing mark on her hand?  What had any of it been for? All the struggle, all the pain and fear, all the horrors she had seen and experienced and done.  It was all so useless.  Suffering for suffering's sake, ending only with death.

At least she knew the truth now.  Andraste had not chosen her.  There was no divine purpose in this.  Perhaps no divine purpose in anything.  Only a fight against the inevitable, pointless screaming into oblivion as darkness engulfed the world.

The storm seemed to be slackening, the snowfall and wind less now, enough that she could see the dark shapes of rocks and trees around her, but she still had no idea where she was.  Every tree, every rock all looked the same.  There was no path, no sign of life.

But still Melora walked on, weaker now.  It was growing hard to breathe, the air searingly cold in her lungs, and the struggle to keep from coughing was constant.  She had to pause between each step to take a breath.  Snow and ice were caked thick on her boots, and the drifts were up to her hips, making forward progress almost impossible.  She couldn't feel anything below her knees.

The end was coming soon.

When she fell again, it was like falling into a warm feather bed, the snow soft and welcoming around her.  In the haze of her mind, she knew there would be no getting up again, and she rolled onto her side, looking up at the sky, at the tumult of dark clouds and falling snow.  Snowflakes fell light onto her cheeks, and they did not melt.

She thought of her allies.  Her friends.  She wondered if they lived.  She pictured their faces in happier times.  Varric making Cassandra laugh in spite of herself.  Dorian's knowing smirk.  Sera's raucous, knee-slapping guffaw.  Josephine's sweet, kind smile.  Leliana's steely eyes softening, the corner of her mouth turning up in faint amusement.  Cullen's nervous, uncertain chuckle.  

And Bull.  The first time she'd seen him on the beach, glorious in battle, wet with rain and blood.  His swaggering gait, his easy laugh.  The weight of his hand on her shoulder, the huff of his breathing and the sound of his shoulder harness creaking as she clung to his back and rode him into the fray.  And his smile, crooked and knowing, the crinkle around his eye.  The feel of his lips on hers and his hand buried in her hair.  Bull, who could be laying dead in the snow.  At least she would be joining him soon.   _Should've kissed him earlier,_ she thought, and she closed her eyes.

_Maker, take them to your side_ , she thought, though she knew it was a useless prayer.  The Maker did not answer prayers.

She let the snow take her.

~*~

 

Melora had only the vaguest awareness of voices, hands on her, strong arms lifting her, and then, nothing at all.

~*~

 

"This is pointless!" shouted Leliana, pulling the hood of her cloak back up for the hundredth time, the wind tugging it back from her hair.  "The scouts said Haven was completely destroyed.  Nothing but splintered ruins and snow!  The Herald is dead, and we're wasting our time!"

"If there is any chance she escaped, we must try!" yelled Cassandra over the wind.  

"There is no chance!  She went out there to die, and we may die if we continue this search!"

Cassandra whirled and stared down Leliana, shaking her head.  "Then go back to the camp.  Stay with the civilians.  Plan our next move.  But until we have searched every bit of the area between here and Haven, I am not giving up."

Leliana turned to Cullen, shaking her head.  "This is a waste of time and our resources.  We should turn back.  Please, talk some sense into her!"

Cullen hunched into his fur and closed his eyes.  "We will continue the search.  She could have gotten out.  She's survived up until now."

The others were with them too, spread out to sweep the area, to cover as much ground as possible.  They were wrapped in blankets and borrowed cloaks, legs wrapped with wool against the cold.  They had been at it for hours, hoping that somehow, their Herald had made it out alive.  But as the sky grew light, as the night ended, it became more and more certain that she had been buried in the final avalanche.  The Herald of Andraste was dead, and they were on their own.  Even Cassandra became quiet and sullen, walking along in silence, scanning the featureless snowfall for any sign of life.

Bull was at the far edge of the group next to Varric, trudging along through the snow with his eye cast down.

"Hey, Tiny, you alright over there?" Varric asked.

Bull looked over, and then back down.  "I will be when we find her."

"Bull… we may not find her."  Varric's voice cracked, his shoulders slumping.

"Yes, we will.  She said she'd come back."  Bull's words were firm, resolute.  There was no quaver in his voice, no uncertainty in his face.  Varric looked away, sighing.

But in Bull's mind, he was afraid.  He kept his face impassive.  He knew how to do that much.  But as the hours dragged on, as the cold chilled him to the bone, he felt fucking _terrified_.  He'd walked away.  She'd told him to, but he did it, because he believed in her.  What was he _thinking_?  He'd let her walk out that door to face an archdemon, alone.  She was so damn small, so full of fear that he could smell it on her.  He was supposed to protect her, and he'd let her walk out there to die, alone.  He should have been with her, should have fought at her side.  Maybe he'd be dead too, but at least she wouldn't have had to be alone.

He should have never let her go, and the fear turned to anger.  Anger was familiar, easier than fear.  Anger turned his hands to fists and kept him trudging forward through the snow.  Anger pushed him onward, turned the thoughts in his mind to his purpose.  Find her.  Find her.   _Find her._

Bull's eye fell on something.  An imperfection in the surface of the snow, a dip in the smooth, white blanket covering the world.  And beyond it, the faintest line, a trench in the fresh snowfall.  A track.

His heart began to pound harder, even as he told himself not to hope.  It could be anything.  A wolf, a deer, even just a big nug.  It probably was one of those, some animal caught in the blizzard, lost in the snow.  But he quickened his pace, breaking from the line, hurrying toward the line he saw there in the snow.  He heard Varric behind him, shouting after him in confusion, but he ignored it, breaking into a run, stumbling in the snow, having to catch himself, nearly falling.  He recovered, charging forward, and then he was there, the edges of the snow crumbled around a dark shape, nearly covered over.  It wasn't a nug.

He fell to his knees in the snow beside it, reaching out both hands, shaking, and he told himself it was from the cold.  He brushed the snow away, and beneath… long, dark, braided hair laying across a tooled leather coat.  He could hear the others following, more voices shouting.

Bull reached into the snow, hands around her, and turned her onto her back.  She was cold, lifeless, and limp.  Her skin was grey, her lips blue, her eyes closed.  His heart sank, and he cradled her close, her head against his shoulder, cupping his hand over her hair, and his fingers probed the side of her neck.  There, beneath her chill skin, under the line of her jaw, he found a faint pulse, felt the slightest movement of her chest with her breathing.  He pressed her close to him, jostling her to grab at the cloak covering his shoulders, wrapping it around her.

"It's really her?"  Varric reached them first, followed quickly by the others.

"Is she alive?" asked Cullen.

"Barely," Bull said.

Cassandra fell to her knees beside him.  "Thank the Maker!"  She lay her hand on Bull's shoulder.  "Here, give her to me.  We need to get her back to the camp to the healers."

Bull shook his head.  He'd already let her go once.  He wasn't about to do it again.  "No.  I've got her.  I'm the strongest of us.  And Qunari run hotter than humans.  I can warm her."  He tucked the cloak tighter around her, looking into Cassandra's eyes.

There was something knowing in her face as she looked back at him, a narrowing of her eyes.  She'd travelled with them long enough to see how close he'd grown to Melora.  He wanted to see her live as much as any of them.  Maybe more.  Cassandra squeezed his shoulder, and then lightly touched Melora's back, her fingers trembling.  "Let's go, then.  Quickly."

Bull held Melora close as he got back to his feet.  The others were clustered around, as if they could lend their warmth just by being close.  They moved as fast as they could, the camp not far, but every moment seemed an eternity.

"Leliana," Cassandra said, "Run ahead.  Have them get ready.  Heat rocks and put them beneath a cot in one of the tents.  Heat blankets too.  Soup, tea, whatever they can get to pour in her."

"Elfroot, too," Bull said.  "Everything they've got.  I can't tell how bad she's hurt but her shoulder feels… wrong, and her breathing is… it's not good."

Leliana nodded her understanding, and then turned and ran for the camp, small and light and quick through the snow.  They followed as quickly as they could, Bull's legs lifting high to clear the snow, hurrying as quick as he dared.  He couldn't stumble now, couldn't risk falling on her, and he didn't want to jostle her too much. But his pace made him break into a sweat, and he was determined to keep it up, to warm himself and in turn, warm her.  She was so damn cold, her breathing so shallow and light he could barely feel the rise and fall of her chest in his arms.  But she was alive.  

She had come back.  He'd made her promise, and she'd done it.  What had she gone through trying to get back, though?  Freezing and injured in the snow in the middle of nowhere…  Bull knew she was strong, but this… this was beyond anything she'd had to face before.  And she'd done it all alone.

Bull quickened his pace, still angry, entirely at himself.  He never should have left her.  He should have been with her.  Should have faced that archdemon with her.  Gone through whatever she'd had to go through at her side.  It should have been them both freezing in the snow.  Not her alone, for hours, no sign of hope or rescue, until she'd… what, laid down and waited to die?

He tried to remind himself that she'd asked him to leave.  Nearly begged him.  How could he have refused her?  She'd insisted.  But he should've objected harder.  Should've followed after she thought he was gone.  Done anything besides leave her alone.

Never again.  He would never leave her to face her foes alone.  He had told her he could protect her, and he had meant it.  As long as she would have him there, he would stand by her side and keep her alive.

… That is, if she lived.  And the cold, tiny bundle of unconscious mage in his arms seemed so close to death that he could not let himself hope that she would.  At least he had found her.  At least if she did die, it would be among people who cared about her, warm and safe, not alone in the snow.

" _I'm sorry_ ," he whispered to her as he jogged along through the snow, the camp in sight now, fires burning bright against the pale blue of dawn.  The words were not enough, but for now, they were all he had.

~*~

 

_"What would you have me tell them?  This isn't what we asked them to do!"_

_"We cannot simply ignore this!  We must find a way!"_

_"And who put you in charge?  We need a consensus, or we have nothing!"_

_"Please, we must use reason!  Without the infrastructure of the Inquisition, we're hobbled!"_

_"That can't come from nowhere!"_

_"She didn't say it could!"_

_"Enough!  This is getting us nowhere!"_

_"Well, we're agreed on that much!"_

Through a dark haze, Melora heard voices raised and angry.  She recognized the voices, though she couldn't place who they were, or what they were arguing about.  It all seemed so far away, and where ever she was, it was dark and warm and comfortable, and she didn't want to leave it.  She felt as though she were floating, so utterly relaxed and peaceful that it seemed strange to hear people so upset.  Who were they?  What had happened that was so terrible?  Surely they felt as calm as she did.  How could anyone not?

A growled, disgusted noise came from one of the arguing voices, and Melora had a flash of remembering.  Determined eyes, a slashed scar down one cheek, brave and beautiful and strong.  Cassandra.  The others, she knew them too.  Leliana, Josephine, Cullen.  Her friends.  Her war council.  She was their Herald, chosen by Andraste…

Suddenly it all came flooding back, like a half-remembered dream.  Haven had been burning.  She'd sent them all to flee.  There had been an archdemon, and so much flame.  And then pain, and cold, and fear.  And then nothing at all.

She was alive.  The thought came with some surprise.  She hadn't expected to live, and the idea that she was alive, that her friends were nearby… it seemed unreal.  She could feel warmth around her, a surface beneath her.  Slowly, she became aware of her body, though she did not dare move.

Eyes still closed, she took inventory.  Arms, legs, torso, head.  Everything ached, but it was a dull throbbing, nothing overwhelming.  She moved her ankles, tensed her legs.  Her left arm, too, seemed fine, but her right was immobile, held against her side.  And taking a deep breath burned.

But she was alive.  All her limbs still attached.  And she was with the Inquisition.  Somehow, they must have found her.

Melora opened her eyes, and slowly, she tilted her head to one side and then the other to look around.

She lay in a crude tent, open on one side, on a cot covered in blankets.  Out the open side of the tent was the ragged remains of the Inquisition, stretching across a snow-blown plain.  They seemed to have fared surprisingly well, with some measure of shelter and supplies.  Immediately she started wondering about the important things: food, fuel, clothing, warm blankets… How much of those essentials did they have?  How long could those supplies last?  She could not tell from where she lay, seeing only a few fires burning, the sides of tents.

Around one of those fires, not far from her tent, she saw Cassandra, Josephine, and Cullen, still shouting at one another.  They all looked so _tired_.  

"Heyyy, there's our girl!" said a voice equally tender and gruff.  Melora turned her head to see Varric sitting on the cot next to her, a book on his lap.  He was smiling warmly at her, and he set his book aside, swinging his legs off the cot.

She was so damn glad to see him she would have cried if it didn't seem like it would hurt to do so.  She moved her mouth, trying to form words, but her mouth was dry, and she licked her cracked lips ineffectively before giving a faint, croaking whisper, "How long?"

"Three days," Varric said, a frown dancing over his brow before disappearing just as quickly, replaced with that same sunny smile.  "You got to laze around in bed while all the rest of us had to listen to everyone else yelling at each other."

"Th--"  Her voice failed and she closed her eyes, swallowing, but there was no moisture in her mouth.  She shook her head, unable to speak any more.

"Here, someone gave me some tea a while ago.  It's gone lukewarm, but…"  He lifted the cup to show her, and then moved next to the cot, slipping one hand beneath her head to help her drink.  He put the cup to her lips and let her have a tiny sip, and then a little more, until she had drank half the cup.  It was tepid and bitter, yet it seemed the most delicious thing she'd ever tasted.  When she closed her eyes and gave a little nod to indicate she'd finished, Varric lowered her head back to the pillow and sat back on the cot beside hers.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yeah," she croaked.  "Have they been fighting since…?"

"Pretty much.  I'd like to say they stopped to eat and sleep, but I don't think they've even done that.  Cullen definitely hasn't.  I suppose you're to blame for that too.  If you hadn't gone and saved all our asses, they wouldn't be able to yell at each other all day and all night."

"What happened?  The archdemon?  Where?"  She could only manage one or two words at a time, and it was still difficult.

"We don't even know where we are at the moment.  Cassandra has a map, but she keeps stabbing the damned thing, and I'm pretty sure she's not just using whimsically large map markers.  As for that Corypheus asshole… your guess is as good as anyone's.  Maybe he can't find us.  Maybe he thinks you're dead.  Or that we're toothless without Haven.  Or maybe he's just licking his wounds and getting ready for another attack."

Melora gave a tiny nod, and then, against her better judgement, she moved beneath the blankets, trying to push herself to sit up.  Every part of her screamed a protest, every muscle throbbing and painful.  Her right arm and shoulder were white-hot agony, and she gave a low moan, squeezing her eyes shut as black clouds billowed across her vision.

"Whoa, hey, no, don't you dare."  He lay a hand on her good shoulder, gently pressing her back down.  "You need to rest.  You're lucky to even be alive.  Shit, some of them are convinced you came back from the dead."

"Can't," she rasped.  "Doesn't… Veil is one way.  No coming back."

Varric shook his head.  "You'd think so, but tell that to Corypheus.  I was there when he died.  Hawke killed him.  He was dead.  And now he's back, raising an army and partying with archdemons."

"I fell in a hole.  Didn't die.  Almost, but… I'm alive."

Varric nodded a little, hunching forward, folding his hands together.  "Yeah, but people are gonna interpret what they saw in whatever way suits them.  They already think you're touched by Andraste herself.  When you run out to your certain death and then wander back as a not-dead icicle, it kinda makes people think you're something special."

"What… what do you think?"

"About you?"

Melora gave a tiny nod.

He gave her a wry smirk, shaking his head again.  "I don't really know how to do this whole disciplehood thing.  Never really followed a chosen one before.  None of this makes any sense to me.  Is this the end of the world?  Did Andraste send you through the Breach?  I have no idea!"

"You don't think…"  She was interrupted by a cough, and her eyes went wide with the pain of it, her ribs feeling as though they would simply burst open.  She forced back the coughing, whimpering, and then she swallowed hard, gasping for breath before she was able to continue.  "You think I'm not the Herald?"

"Ah, shit," he muttered, placing a hand on her forehead, his face lined with concern.  He spoke low to her, kneeling beside the cot, and closed his eyes a moment.  "This is going to be awkward… Look, either you're guided by the hand of some higher power, or you've got the worst luck of anyone I've ever met.  And I know _Hawke_.  But all the shit that's happened to you? You were saved from an explosion that leveled a mountaintop, and fell out of the Fade.  You travelled through time.  And then you faced down one of the ancient magisters who started the Blights - and his pet archdemon, had another mountain fall on you, and you lived.  One of those things would be impossible.  But all of them, together?"  He gave a low, humourless chuckle.  "That's a miracle."

"My bad luck is a miracle?"

He rubbed lightly at her forehead with his thumb, smiling at her.  "You know the story of Andraste.  Bad luck is sort of her thing."

"So…"  Another pause, closing her eyes as she spoke, her words halting and laborious. "You do believe.  Herald.  Andraste.  All of it."

She opened her eyes to see him give a helpless shrug.  "I don't know.  But I do like the idea that you can save the world with a song.  And after all I've seen, I believe in you."

Melora wished she could sit up so she could hug him.  Varric had been so kind to her, always there with her, smiling and cynical, joking and warm.  She was so grateful he was here.  Tears came to her eyes, and she squeezed them shut.  She felt the swipe of his fingers across her eyelids.

"Hey, now.  Don't go getting all soppy on me.  Because if you cry, I'm gonna cry, and nobody wants to see that.  I get all red-faced and snotty and start making this noise like someone stomped on a nug.  It's awful."

She laughed, and winced at the pain of doing so, her mouth pulling into a pained smile, and she opened her eyes to look at him again.  "Thanks, Varric."

"Anytime, Stabby."

She almost laughed again, but forced it back, shaking her head slightly but regretting that too, the tent spinning around her.  "I finally get a nickname?"

Varric grinned at her.  "Between the knitting needles and those knives of yours, it seemed fitting."

Melora took a few slow breaths, her smile fading before she asked, "Did everyone… who… who lived?"

"Thanks to you, almost everyone.  Chancellor Roderick went to the Maker's side a few hours ago, but he lived to see you return.  The people you saved in Haven, all of them.  One really old woman didn't make it on the path, but that was just years catching up to her at a bad time.  But everyone else who was still standing when you went out there… we got 'em all here."

"Bull?"

Varric smirked and nodded.  "You really must've been out cold, pardon the turn of phrase.  He was the one who found you in the snow.  He carried you back here.  And… actually, I ought to go get him.  He's been here at your side the whole time.  I only just convinced him to go get something to eat right before you woke up.  He's gonna kill me for being the one here when you finally came to."

"Can you…?"  Her voice cracked then.  She was finding it hard to speak at all, her voice a faint, ragged whisper.

Varric gave her good shoulder a small pat.  "Yeah, I'll get him now.  You just rest, alright?  Let everyone else take care of things for a while.  And try to ignore the shouting.  They're like dogs.  Eventually they'll wear themselves out with all the barking and give up."

Then he was gone, and Melora closed her eyes again, trying to concentrate on keeping her breathing slow and even.  The arguing had died down, with only Cullen and Leliana's voices still quarreling, but quieter now.  

After a few minutes, she heard familiar footsteps, heavy on the ground with a faint metallic sound every other step.  She opened her eyes as Bull sat down on the cot next to hers, its wood frame creaking beneath his weight.

"Hey, boss," he said, his voice so low that she could barely hear him.

Melora struggled for a moment to free her left hand from beneath the blankets, the effort and jostling of it painful, but she finally managed to get her hand free, and reached out to him across the gap between the two cots.  She didn't know what to say, didn't think she could even speak anymore.

Bull took her hand in his, hers small and his so very large.  His skin was warm and rough and familiar, and she felt tears coming to her eyes again.  She closed her eyes, hoping he wouldn't see.

He had found her.  Saved her.  She owed him her life.  It was a debt she could never repay.  Melora squeezed his fingers gently, opening her eyes to look at him.  He looked so damned exhausted, his shoulders sagging as if he were bearing a massive weight on his back.  "Hey," she whispered, too hoarse for much more than a faint noise.  Then she lifted her hand from his palm in a weak beckoning motion, drawing him closer.  He shifted to kneel beside the cot, closing both his hands over hers, and he leaned over her, careful not to press down on her battered body.

"Thank you," she rasped, and when his brow drew into a frown and he leaned closer, she repeated it again into his pointed ear, "Thank you."

Bull shook his head in confusion.  "For what?"

"For finding me.  And for the luck.  I needed it."

He drew back, looking into her eyes, and said softly, "You wouldn't have needed it if I'd stayed with you.  I should've been there."

"No.  You did as I asked you to.  Now I need you to do that again."

She could see him tense, his lips twitching.  "I'm not leaving you again."

Melora gave a slight shake of her head.  "No.  I need you to help me get up."

Bull blinked.  "What?  No.  You've got to rest.  You've got cracked ribs, your shoulder was dislocated, smoke in your lungs, frostbite on your toes… You shouldn't even be thinking about getting up."

Melora turned her hand over in his, so that her mark tilted to his face.  It gleamed faintly in the dim light in the tent, and Bull looked down at it, pressing his lips together firmly.  "The Herald of Andraste lives," she whispered.  "And the people need to see."

"Their hope is not more important than your recovery."

"Look at them."  When he did not, she raised her voice, though it was agony to do so.  " _Look!_ "

He did, lifting his head to gaze out of the tent.  There, he saw the scattered remains of the Inquisition, huddled around campfires in the snow.  Her war council hunched in defeat, having finally run out of argument but still with no consensus.  Everyone was so tired, cold, and afraid, hollow eyes searching for answers but finding none.  The Inquisition was shattered, and so were its people.

"Whatever I am," she hushed, "I need to be hope for them.  And I need you to help me.   _Please._ "

"You try to get up, you… _crap_ , you have any idea how much it's gonna hurt if you try to move now?"

"I do."  She had dragged herself through the snow like this, without any warm blankets wrapped around her, without the potions they surely had given her, without her shoulder set and her ribs held fast with bandages.  And without him at her side.  "Please."

"Shit.  Alright.  Cassandra's gonna yell at me, but alright.  I can try to pick you up without jostling you too much."

"No," she said.  "Just help me walk."

"Walk?  You can't even sit up.  How the…"

"Put your arm around my waist.  Hold me up.  I'll be alright.  Just for a minute, I promise.  Then I'll lay back down."

"This is crazy, boss."

"I know."

He was swearing under his breath, but he did as she asked, pulling back the blankets from her.  They'd dressed her in clean clothes, much too large for her, covering the bandages around her wounds.  Her right arm was held immobile at her side.  "Alright," Bull said softly, letting go of her hand to skim a huge, nervous hand across her cheek.  "You ready?  Gonna go quick, but it'll hurt.  A lot."

She nodded, and he slipped that hand beneath her back, splaying his fingers against her shoulder blades.  At the count of three, he lifted her up to a sitting position.  The only noise Melora made was a low, desperate moan, sucking air through her teeth.  Screaming would have hurt too much, and she would not let them hear her pain.  A sickly, feverish sweat shone on her forehead, and she hung her head against her chest, trying to catch her breath, waiting for the spots in her vision to clear.

" _Fuck_ ," she spat.  "Let's get this over with."

"How can you fit so much stubborn in such a little body?" he asked her, and then he slipped his other hand under both her legs at the knees, lifting them off the cot and turning her so that her legs hung off the side, her bandaged feet dangling above the floor.  That wasn't so bad, though her head was swimming, and it took her several moments to stop feeling as though she was going to pass out.

"Now for the hard part," Bull said, shifting to wrap an arm around her waist, his hand sliding over her hip, bracing his shoulder against her back.  "You sure about this?  You don't have to--"

"Bull, _please_."  

He took a deep, resigned breath, and then on three, he pulled her up with him, setting her lightly on her feet, holding her as gently as he could.

Maker's mercy, it _hurt!_  Tingling pain shot up both her legs from her feet, and her cracked ribs protested bitterly at such treatment.  But she was standing, such as it was, most of her weight held up by Bull and not her own two feet.  Her vision went black for a moment, her head bobbing loosely, and she was sure she was about to faint.  But then she heard Bull's voice calling to her, soft and insistent, and she clawed her way back from unconsciousness, leaning her head against his side, panting shallowly.

"Now," she gasped, swallowing hard, forcing herself to keep her eyes open.  "Out there."  She needed to be seen alive and upright.

He took a step forward, pulling her along with him, and she shuffled her bandaged feet forward, gritting her teeth so hard her jaw began to ache.   That was good.  That was a new pain, a pain she had control over.  She focused on it, let it be the pain she felt, the rest of it receding slightly into the background.  He took another step, and another, and soon, they were out from under the tent, walking toward where the war council had gathered.

They had gone quiet.  Leliana and Josephine sat to one side, heads bowed, exhausted.  Cassandra stared at a map, trying desperately to figure out where they were.  Cullen had his face in his hands, gloved fingertips pressed to his forehead, half turned away from her.

A group of civilians was gathered close by too, and when they saw her, several of them stood, wide-eyed and staring.  Among them was Mother Giselle, her robes torn and soot-stained, but her face just as proud and determined as ever.  She was one who stood, stepping toward Melora, shaking her head in amazed disbelief.

Melora had to close her eyes again, lowering her head, breathing slow and deep, trying to focus on the pain she could control, blocking out all of the rest of it.  She felt, too, Bull's arm around her, his hand splayed over her hip, lending her his strength.

Melora opened her eyes again when she heard Mother Giselle begin to sing, her voice low and rich.  " _Shadows fall, and hope has fled.  Steel your heart.  The dawn will come.  The night is long, and the path is dark.  Look to the sky, for one day soon, the dawn will come._ "

She knew these words.  Every child knew these words.  An old song, sung throughout Thedas.  Older than some of the kingdoms, the tune borrowed from even older songs, the words inspiration to trust in the light of the Maker.

Leliana lifted her head, and her high, sweet voice joined Mother Giselle's.  " _The shepherd's lost, and his home is far._ "

More voices joined them now, soldiers rising in ones and twos from the snowy ground.  The song grew, moving through the clusters of tents and low fires, spreading throughout the weary and the lost, the wounded and the fearful, the cold and the faithless.  " _Keep to the stars.  The dawn will come._ "  They sang together, and they stepped toward her, exhausted faces shining in the light of the fires.

Even Cullen, stoic and rigid as ever, raised his voice to join the others, closing his eyes as he sang out the words known by all, " _The night is long, and the path is dark_."  His voice was pure as a bell, surprising in its beauty.

Melora could only stare, her cracked lips parted and quivering as, one by one, they all joined in the song, all eyes upon her.  " _Bare your blade, and raise it high.  Stand your ground, the dawn will come._ "  Along with the line, the soldiers there drew their blades, lifting glinting steel into the air.  Even the civilians raised knives and dirks and daggers, a sea of glittering weapons in the firelight to show their resolve, lowered slowly as they sang out the final line.

Tears rolled down Melora's cheeks, unbidden and silent, and she looked down at her hand, at her mark sparkling with Fade magic, green and strange.  She had held out her hand to light the way, and it had led her toward the camp, in spite of the blizzard.  It had saved her life just as much as Bull had, finding her in the snow.  She gave a helpless, aching sob, and Bull squeezed her gently, holding her close to his side.  " _The night is long, and the path is dark.  Look to the sky, for one day soon, the dawn will come._ "

Melora pressed her lips together tight, her eyes shining with tears.  She looked at each person in the crowd, every face in turn.  Those she knew, and those she could not recognize, she saw them all, her gaze lingering longer on her friends.

They were her friends, she realized now, as they stood in the silence after the last line of the song had faded.  And they were so much greater than any friends she had known before.  What had she been when this all had started, before she had met all of them?  She had been no one, and perhaps she still was, in her heart.  But even if Andraste had not chosen her, these people had.  Her friends had.

There were tears in Josephine's eyes.  Leliana had her arm around Josephine's shoulder, standing close to Cullen, who raised his fist to his chest in a soldier's salute.  Cassandra and Blackwall lowered their heads respectfully when Melora's gaze fell upon them.  Sera gave her a cheerful grin and a wave.  Dorian closed his eyes and bowed his head, while Varric offered a hopeful and lopsided smile.  Even Vivienne dipped her head in Melora's direction.  And Solas, at the edge of the crowd, narrowed his eyes, his expression something between intrigued and amused.

Melora looked around at all of them and then gave a slow, deliberate nod.  There were no words for what she was accepting, none she could possibly conjure up which could capture the meaning of this moment.  Her silent, wordless tears, her very presence here, the crackling green mark on her palm, and that she stood before them even though she could not physically stand on her own… these things said more than any speech ever could.  They needed hope.  They needed a Herald.  They needed _her_.

Josephine and Leliana stepped forward, and encircled her in their arms.  Cassandra was next, placing her hand lightly on Melora's good shoulder.  Cullen, too, took hold of her marked hand and held it in his, wrapping his other arm around Josephine and Leliana.  Other hands were upon her too, then, on her arm and her shoulder, any place they could reach.  And then, with no more room to crowd around her, hands rested upon the shoulders of those who touched her, back and back through the crowd, some linking hands and others holding each other close, until every one of them was connected to her through one another.

The survivors of Haven stood with her, around her, and Melora stood at their center, utterly overcome with exhaustion and awe, weeping openly, tears streaming down her windburned cheeks and soaking into her clothes.

She closed her eyes and the Chant of Light echoed through her mind.

 

_The Light shall lead her safely_

_Through the paths of this world, and into the next._

_For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water._

_As the moth sees light and goes toward flame,_

_She should see fire and go towards Light._

_The Veil holds no uncertainty for her,_

_And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker_

_Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword._

 


	10. Chapter 10

Melora stood on a hill overlooking the Inquisition's temporary camp just a few days after the destruction of Haven.  Her right arm rested in a sling, a set of borrowed boots on her bandaged feet, and a crutch given to her by Warden Blackwall tucked under her left arm.  The healers had patched her up as best they could, filling her with bitter potions to heal her cracked ribs, smearing poultices on her cuts and burns, but she was still far from recovered.  

She brought with her only a small group to scout north to in search of the stronghold that Solas had seen in his journeys in the Fade.  Cassandra, Varric, Solas, and Bull were with her, taking the lead for once so that the snow would be easier for the limping Herald to traverse.  As they walked away ahead of her, Melora stopped to look back to the camp, leaning heavily on the crutch.

Melora took it all in: the empty, snow-filled valley with no other signs of civilization, the hastily-erected tents which offered little protection from the cold, the small figures moving in the snow, and thin threads of smoke rising from fire pits.  From here it all looked so small, so fragile, completely exposed.  In Haven, they had at least had walls, houses, the sturdy structure of the Chantry, and siege equipment... for all the good it had done them.

Here, there was nothing… Nothing but rocks, pine trees, and snow.  If the enemy found them here, they would be utterly defenseless.  A single breath of flame from the archdemon flying overhead could wipe them out entirely, roasting the civilians alive in their tents, before anyone had even had a chance to raise the alarm.  Even if they did see the enemy coming, what could they do?  There was nowhere to go, nowhere to flee.  If they stood and fought, they would die.  If they tried to run, they would die.  If they tried to surrender, they would die.

Even if they were not attacked, how long could they last here?  With the supplies they'd been able to amass from the caches Cullen had wisely had stashed outside of Haven, they at least had the tents, some food, and some necessities.  But with so many people, even with sending scouts hunting and foraging, they could only last a short time here.  They had already sent some scouts toward the Hinterlands, to work on getting resupplied, but it would take time for them to get there, amass supplies, and bring them back.  Until then, the camped Inquisition could operate on reduced rations, but for how long?  They had horses, at least, and gurns.  If necessary, they could be eaten, too.

Melora didn't want to think about what they might be forced to do once that meat ran out.

"You coming?"  Bull had come back down the hill, the question as much in his eye as his words.

Melora drew a shaky breath and said softly, "Just look at all of them."

Bull looked out over the valley, nodding a little, and replied, "Yeah, it is a lot of people."

"Soldiers, the war council, and... so many civilians.  Pilgrims come to see the Urn of Sacred Ashes and too afraid to return home with all the rifts, people from Haven… Four hundred and fifty three people.  Not counting the five of us."

"It'd have been a lot less if it wasn't for what you did back in Haven."

Melora gave a slight, solemn nod, but she sounded no brighter.  "Four hundred and fifty three people in tents in a snowy valley in the middle of the Frostbacks, all of them counting on us to bring back good news of a place they can be safe.  Every last one of them hoping that this place will be what we need because… if it isn't…"

He offered her a sympathetic smile.  "You really do carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, don't you?"

She gave a rueful little laugh.  "No, just in my left hand."  She looked down at the mark, dull in the thin grey light of the morning, but she could feel the ache of it, the strange pull that wound its way up her wrist.

"Come on," he said, his voice soft as the cold blanket of snow around them.  "We've got a long way to go.  Best get started."

"Yeah."  She didn't sound convinced, but she turned together with him, following the others, trudging up the hill in the snow.

~*~

Melora swung the crutch forward, leaning heavily on it as she dragged herself forward another step.  The snow ahead of her was compacted from the travel of Bull, Cassandra, Solas, and Varric ahead of her, forging their own path through the fresh snowfall when they had no longer been able to follow game trails.  But she was still lagging further and further behind, snow building up on her boots and caking her trousers.  Her breath came fast and hard, and she had to stop, leaning heavily on the crutch and closing her eyes.  She was drenched in sweat, her knees shaking beneath her.  

When she opened her eyes, she was looking down at the overly-large boots they'd found for her to wear, bandages taking up the space between the inside of the boots and her frostbitten feet.  Her feet burned the colder they got, and every step was agony.  At least her arm was doing some better after two days of travel, out of the sling with the help of several elfroot potions and a stinking poultice applied twice a day.  She still couldn't use the arm for much, sore and weak as it was, but she could stretch it as she walked.

Cassandra, Varric, and Solas continued on ahead of her, having grown used to Melora's frequent stops to rest, knowing she would hurry to catch up soon.  But it was Bull who stopped, returning to her on the path.  More snow had been falling since noon, and now that the daylight was fading, the wind was picking up, too, dragging pale grey clouds across the roiling sky.  

Melora looked up at the snowflakes falling through the air, spots of cold kissing her cheeks, and she struggled to catch her breath against the ache in her chest, snow caught in her eyelashes.

"You look tired," Bull said, his voice low so that the others could not hear.

Melora pulled her eyes away from the sky, blinking as if surprised to see him, and she looked at him with a faint, dazed expression.  Her cheeks were flushed and her skin was shining with sweat despite the cold.

"You want me to carry you?" he asked.

Melora shook her head, her head moving heavy and slow.  "The Herald needs to stand on her own two feet."

"Well, I dunno about the Herald, but _you_ look like you're barely staying upright."  He looked over to where the others and called, "Hey, hold up."

Cassandra turned back, her eyes narrowing.  "Shall we slow down again?"

"I think we should break for camp for the night.  Dark's coming soon, and…"  He trailed off, but gestured with one hand toward Melora, who was still leaning hard on the crutch, struggling to take a full breath with her cracked ribs still sore.

"Fine," Cassandra said, scanning their surroundings.  "There is a sheltered spot over there, in the lee of that stone outcropping.  We could make camp at its base."

Bull nodded to her, and Cassandra and the others left the path, heading for the spot where the rock face provided a bit of protection from the wind. The temperature seemed to be dropping, too, and even Bull pulled his makeshift cloak tighter around himself, the woolen blanket draped over him with a pin to keep it closed.

The others started assembling the tents, three of them this time, and they worked quickly, darkness approaching and the wind pulling at the waxed canvas of the tents, yanking it from their hands as they set them up as fast as they could.  By the time they had finished, it was nearly dark, and they could barely see more than a few paces in front of them.  Bull pounded the stakes at the corners of the tents deep into the frozen ground with the heel of his boot.  Varric and Cassandra took one tent, having grown at least accustomed to, if not comfortable with one another through their frequent journeys together of late.

"I can share with Solas," Melora said to Bull, her teeth chattering.  "Then you'll have plenty of room."

"Nothing doing, boss.  You can barely stand up, and if you need to get up in the night, better for me to be right there.  Besides, you're so small I could just take my boots off and you can tuck yourself into one of 'em for a bed.  You're not gonna take up too much room."

The idea of sleeping beside him… she normally would have jumped at the chance to be close to him.  But she wasn't doing any jumping at the moment, so she merely gave a tiny nod.

Bull retrieved the bedrolls and blankets from his pack, carrying both her things and his, and spread them inside the tent while she waited, sagging against the crutch, and then he wrapped an arm around her to help her into the tent.  She sat down heavily on the end of her bedroll as Bull got in beside her, and she struggled to get her boots off with one hand, wincing when she tried to stretch forward with her right arm to pull the boot from her heel.

"Here, let me help," Bull said softly, leaning forward to rest one huge hand on her boot, shadowy in the darkness of the tent.

Melora sat back as he gently pulled the boots from her feet, and then she asked softly, "Why are you so nice to me?"

Bull chuckled, setting her boots by the tent flap, and looked at her curiously.  "What, would you rather I be an asshole to you?"

"No."  She looked down at the mark on her hand, frowning.  "But when we're on the road, you're… you're always there.  Here.  Beside me.  Carrying my pack when I can't.  Helping me with my boots.  Offering to carry _me_. You ask how I am, and when I'm not doing well, you try to help.  The rest of them, they seem to have nothing but expectations of me.  But you, you're just… you're so kind to me."  Unbidden, she felt her eyes growing wet with tears, her voice shaking, and she swallowed hard, pushing it back.

Hesitating, Bull lay his hand on her back, gentle and mindful of her shoulder and sore ribs.  "Why wouldn't I be?  You're doing a damn fine job of kicking ass and helping people. You didn't ask for any of this. Just minding your own business and got that mark thing on your hand, mountain blown up around you, thrown into the middle of all this crap, everyone expecting you to save the world.  I can tell you're fucking terrified by all of it, and on top of that, everyone's treating you like you're some kind of chosen one, looking at you for answers and hoping you'll save them.  You need someone who'll treat you like a person and not a prophet, don't you?"

"Thank you," she whispered, and she leaned her head against his arm, hiding the tears in her eyes.

"Hey, now, don't go getting all soppy on me.  Come on, you're exhausted and need to get some rest.  Lay down and get some sleep."

She nodded against his arm and then did as he told her, stretching out on her bedroll.  Bull pulled her blanket over her and rested his hand against her head for a moment before he lay down, too, a large, warm shape in the darkness.

"Good night, Bull," she said softly.

"Good night, Melora."

~*~

The wind snapped and whipped at the fabric of the tent, waking Bull from his light sleep constantly, and he lay awake in the tent, eye open and staring into the darkness, his mind a tangle of thoughts that he could not unsnarl.  The metal patch was cold against his cheek and brow, but he was used to it.

Beside him in her bedroll, Melora made a low sound, a moaning whimper in her sleep.  Bull could hear her breath, shaky and uneven, and he frowned, hesitating before he reached out to lay a hand where he thought her shoulder might be, his touch light so he wouldn't hurt her if it was the shoulder still healing.  She was curled into a tight ball on her left side, her woolen blanket pulled up to her head, shivering hard.  Bull propped himself up on one elbow to throw the edge of his own blanket over her, before he lay back down, one arm behind his head.

Still fast asleep, Melora shifted closer to him, feeling the warmth of his blanket and seeking more.  Bull froze, unmoving as she curled close to his side, her small body chill, still shivering and cold.  He tucked the blanket closer around her, and as he settled back, he felt icy fingers slide over his bare chest, nestling against his collarbone, and she crossed one leg over his. She gave a soft sigh, hugging him tightly, and Bull suppressed the urge to draw a sharp breath at her cold nose on his chest.

Bull lay completely still, barely breathing, his whole body tense, afraid that the slightest motion might disturb her.  But Melora was draped comfortably against him, cold fingers warming against his skin, and her breathing became slow and even.  Soon, her shivering ceased and she began to feel a bit warmer.  Bull took a deep breath and let himself relax too, the cold air bringing with it the scent of her hair.  He let the breath out through his nose, jaw set hard against his teeth, and he tried to think of something other than the smell of her, the tang of dried sweat on her skin mixed with the sharp scent of old blood and smoke in her clothes, and underneath it all, the scent of _her_ , coppery and bright, like summer sunlight on grass.  But it was all around him, on him now, just as she was, and he willed himself to think of something else, _anything_ else.

Melora gave a sigh and shifted in her sleep, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder, her small hand moving to rest on the side of his neck, his pulse on her fingertips.  The sound of her, the _feeling_ of her against him was so soft and sweet that he nearly swore out loud, pressing his lips together hard and squeezing his eye shut tight.

 _"Fuck it."_  He mouthed the words inaudibly to the darkness, and he lifted his head off his arm to wrap both arms around her, mindful of her sore shoulder.  She made another little noise, contented and dreamy, squeezing him with her leg, before she relaxed again.  Bull tilted his face down to her, breathing in the scent of her hair, and then he pressed his lips to the crown of her head in a silent kiss.

He lay awake, head clouded with conflict, until sleep finally took him, too.

Just before dawn, Bull woke when he felt her stirring against him, the rhythm of her breath changing, and he carefully pulled away from her, slipping his shoulder from beneath her head, shifting away a bit.  Melora rolled onto her back, turning her face to the other side of the tent.

Bull pretended to be sound asleep when she sat up a few minutes later, hearing the sound of a yawn and the rustle of blankets as she stretched.  He opened his eye and looked up at her.  She leaned on her good arm, hair escaping her braid and fuzzy around her face, her eyes sleepy.  She saw he was awake, and she gave him a sweet little smile which turned into another yawn, covered with her palm.

 _Ah, shit,_ Bull thought, unable to look away from her.  He'd felt lust before.  Desire was familiar.  And there was that, too, especially after she'd gone and kissed him.  But all he wanted to do right now was to pull her back down against him and wrap his arms around her again, to lay there warm and quiet with her some more.  And that was just _weird_.  

"Hey," she said, her voice thick with sleep.

"Morning.  You, uh, sleep alright?"

"Yes, really well, I think, actually.  Better than I have in a long time.  Not near as cold as I thought I'd be from how the weather was last night.  And my shoulder's feeling better, too.  Strange."  Melora sat cross-legged beside him in the tent, her blanket over her lap, and she pulled the ribbon from the end of her braid and dragged her fingers through her hair, streaming loose and wavy from the braid over her.  The shoulder must've been feeling a lot better for her to be able to do that without much pain.

He couldn't help but remember when he'd seen her hair loose before, wet and naked when he'd stumbled across her at the pond in the Hinterlands.  Fuck, she was hot.  So plain at a glance, not like the barmaids he usually favoured that were all pouty lips and tits hoisted up to their chins… But the details of her, the glimmer in her eye, the way she laughed in spite of herself at his stupid jokes, her damned adorable blushing and giggling at him.  How she seemed to be constantly in motion, restless and fidgeting, small hands turning wool into all manner of things, and almost always for others.  And that fucking _kiss_ of hers.  She'd surprised him, and it wasn't often anyone could do that.  He'd thought plenty before about what it'd be like to kiss her, but he'd always expected she'd be shy and shrinking… not grabbing him and crushing her mouth to his.  There was passion in her, a startling fervor.

Bull had to stifle the urge to reach out and seize a handful of her hair at the nape of her neck and bury his fingers in it.  He wondered if she would lean into his touch, or if she would pull away.

"I had some very weird dreams though, I think," she said.

"Yeah?"

She nodded.  "Mmhmm.  I was walking through the snow.  I was alone, and I didn't know where I was.  The snow just kept piling higher and higher until it was up to my neck, and I was just sort of… swimming through it, but I wasn't getting anywhere.  I was so _cold_ …"  She trailed off then, looking down at her lap, and Bull realized then she'd been dreaming of being lost in the blizzard after Haven.  "But then, you were there, I think?  And we were talking… what was it about?"  

She squinted, trying to recall the rest of the dream, but then her eyes went wide for a moment, and she glanced away from him.  "I guess, um, I don't remember the rest."

"Huh."  Bull stifled a smirk, wondering just what it was she'd dreamed about him that made her so nervous.  He thought about asking, but figured she'd be too embarrassed to tell him.  Still, had to be damned interesting to get that kind of reaction out of her.  "I thought you mages were able to control your dreams and remember 'em better than normal people," he said.

He saw her fingers pause as she re-braided her hair, a twitch in her mouth and a tension in her jaw.  "'Normal people'?"

"I just meant… non-mages."

"Right," she said, her voice carefully measured and even, but it was clear she'd taken offense.  Her hands moved to finish her hair, and she tied the end again with the ribbon.  "As I have never been a 'normal person', I couldn't tell you how my dreams differ from theirs.  But it is said that mages have a greater awareness of our dreams, more control over them, and a better memory of them, due to our connection to the Fade.  But they're still _dreams_ and they slip away like trying to pick up a handful of dry sand.  Besides, I thought Qunari dreamed differently from 'normal people' too."  Melora shot him a glance, leaning over to grab her boots from where they sat near the tent flap.  She tried to keep from wincing as she did, but he saw it, the pain passing over her face from the movement.  Ribs still sore then, and the shoulder was still bothering her some.

"Except for _saarebas_ , Qunari don't enter the Fade to dream.  We just sort of hang around in our own heads."

Melora looked at him, her expression more curious than offended this time.  "Really? I heard you were like dwarves.  Dreaming rarely, if at all."

Bull shook his head a bit.  "Nah.  We dream just as much as humans, I think.  But it's just… different.  We don't go anywhere, usually."

" _Saarebas_ are your mages, right?"

"Yeah.  But, uh… Mages under the Qun… Let's just say that whatever shit has happened to mages in the Circles here, it's nothing compared to how it is for _saarebas_."  He looked at her, the little mage with a frayed yellow ribbon at the end of her braid, and could not force the picture from his mind of what might happen if the Qun were to invade here.  He'd toyed with the idea in his head, but that was just roleplay.  The reality of what it would be… Melora, chained and tied and broken, fitted with an _arvaaarad_ control collar, her mouth sewn shut,  stripped of her name, called only _bas-saarebas_.  They would not go easy on her just because of her mark.  Mages were inherently dangerous, and there could be no leniency or mercy shown to them.  If anything, they would be even more insistent on making use of her in whatever way they could, using every possible tool at their disposal to destroy her will before they would resort to razing her mind with _qamek_.  Bull's guts twisted at the thought.

"What does it mean, ' _saarebas_ '?"

"Uhh.  Literally, I guess something like 'dangerous thing.'"

Melora tilted her head slightly, running her fingers through the loose tail of her braid, and she cast him a sidelong glance.  "Is that what you think of me?  Am I a ‘dangerous thing’?"

 _Like a damned wildcat kitten,_ he thought, looking up at her, letting his gaze drift over her… her wide, dark eyes, edged in darker lashes, her pretty, pink little mouth and upturned nose, tanned and freckled across the bridge and her cheeks from all the time she'd been spending outdoors… strong, slender limbs folded there beside him, so close he could reach out and touch her as she looked down at him, waiting for his answer.   _Cute and will come sit on your lap and purr but already got sharp, sharp claws.  And given a bit of time and practice, can rip the belly out of its prey with a single stroke._

"I've seen you fight," he said.  "If you haven't figured out yourself how dangerous you can be, I don't think me saying so will make any difference."

"So that's a yes to the dangerous part.  Do you think I'm a thing, then, too?"

Bull cracked a crooked grin.  "Hey, you're talking to the guy who picked a name with an article in the front of it to sound less like a person and more like a mindless weapon of destruction.  You got a problem with being a thing, I can't help you there, either."

Melora was quiet, unwrapping one of the bandages covering her feet, looking at her skin.  Bull glanced down at it too.  Like everything about her, her feet were so very small, and the thought crossed his mind that he could probably fit her whole foot, or at least most of it, in his mouth.  He pushed the odd thought away.  He doubted she'd even want anyone touching her feet for a long, long time.  The skin of her foot was an angry red, her toes blistered and painful looking, scabbed over in places and swollen in others, but nothing looked like it was turning black.  She saw he was looking, and quickly wrapped the bandage back up.

Bull kept himself from frowning, but he wondered why she would be self-conscious about him seeing her wounds.  It's not as though he didn't know she had them, or what frostbite looked like.  He was just glad she wasn't going to lose any toes.  He was missing enough bits to know how shitty that was to deal with.

Melora slipped on her boots, sucking a sharp breath through her nostrils but showing no other outward signs of pain.  She was already learning how to hide her emotions.  And she was trying to hide them from him.  He'd have to put a stop to that.  He needed to know how she really felt if he was going to protect her.  Or at least, that's what he told himself the reason was.

When she was done with her boots, she looked back at Bull and raised her chin to ask, "So what did you dream of last night, then?"

Bull narrowed his eye at her, considering the question, and then after a moment he said quietly, "I dreamed I had my arms around the bravest, strongest, most beautiful woman I've ever met, and she and I did nothing but lay close and warm together all night."

Melora burst out laughing, shaking her head.  "If you're going to lie, you could at least _try_ to make it sound believable!"

Bull snorted.  "Yeah, alright, you got me.  I dreamed I had this really busty redhead sitting on my face.  Just… all freckles and bouncy tits and quivering thighs, and at the same time, this hot little blonde elf was sucking me off like he'd been lost in the desert for days, and my dick was the only source of water for miles."

Melora's eyes went wide and she made a tiny noise, pressing her fingertips to her lips as her cheeks blushed pink.  She giggled behind her fingers and then said, "Well, that sounds more like you."

He gave her a wry smile and a shrug, and then laid his head back down.

"Anyway," she said after a pause, as if she'd been picturing that little scene he'd laid out, "I should see if Varric and Cassandra are up yet.  Pretty sure Solas isn't."

"Heh, sure, alright," Bull replied, and he watched as she wrapped her blanket over her shoulders and slipped out of the tent into the snow, leaving him behind.  When he was sure she was gone, hearing her talking to Varric outside, he gathered a handful of his own blanket where it lay across his chest… where she had lay across his chest, and he brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply as he closed his eye.

~*~

They'd made good time despite the difficult terrain, rockslides covering the road in places.  In others, the road itself was gone, crumbled away down the mountainside.  But they moved with care, sometimes having to find an alternate path or clamber over the rocks.  Twice, Bull hoisted Melora onto his shoulders when she was unable to make the climb herself, despite her protests.  But the path had been clear for the past few hours, stretching into the afternoon of the fourth day, and they had moved swifter than before, Melora's feet healing.  She no longer had to rely on the crutch, either, using it mainly to keep herself from slipping on the smooth, icy stones beneath the snow.

"So how much further is this place supposed to be, Chuckles?"  Varric asked, pulling his scarf tighter around his face.

"Not very far now.  I believe the split in the road about an hour ago was the last," Solas answered.

"Good, because I'm freezing my ass off.  I've had my fill of snow."

"And I've had my fill of your complaining," said Cassandra, glancing back at Varric, her face cold as steel.

He gave her a grin.  "Yeah yeah, I'll give you your fill of _something_ , Seeker."

She whirled and stared at him.  " _Excuse me?!_ "

Varric took a step back, laughing, holding his hands up defensively.  "Kidding, kidding!  Just trying to lighten the mood.  Everyone looks so grim."

"We are in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by snow and rocks and nothing else.  Grim seems fitting," Cassandra shot back.

"We could sing," suggested Bull.

"No!" said both Cassandra and Varric in unison, and then they glanced at each other with raised eyebrows.

"Because of… avalanches," Cassandra said.

"And because none of you want to hear my singing voice. Trust me," Varric added.

The two of them continued chatting away in their strange, antagonistic sort of way.  At one point Cassandra lightly smacked Varric in the back of the head, and he glared up at her, but then he broke into a grin.  Solas, ahead of them, paid them no mind, leading the way down the snow-covered path.

Melora watched them as she walked along at the rear of the group, Bull close by her side.  She had been silent for well over an hour, and Bull said softly, "How's it going, boss?"

She glanced up at him, but then back down at the path, continuing on with her slow, plodding gait, and said nothing, pressing her lips together tight, and just shook her head.

"Hey."  He reached out to put a hand against her back.  "You can talk to me, you know.  You need a break?  We can stop for a bit, have a sit-down."

"No," she said, her voice flat.  "I'm fine.  We can keep going.  We're almost there."

Bull twisted her braid around his fingers, giving it a gentle tug before letting go and dropping his hand to his side.  "You can tell yourself you're fine, but I know better than that.  Been walking beside you for months now.  Seen all your little tells and know them like the back of my hand. You don't want to talk about it, that's alright, but _don't_ lie to me."

Melora gave a faint nod, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment before she said, "Yes. I... I'm sorry.  Just… trying really hard to be alright."

"Is it working?"

"No."

"Alright, then. Why don't you tell me what's wrong?  Maybe I can help."

She looked over at him with a soft smile.  "That's your answer to everything, isn't it?  You know you can't ease all my burdens."

"I can try."

Melora shook her head a bit and said, "Just… worried.  What if we find this place and it's not going to work for us?  Or if it's no longer there, crumbled to ruins since Solas saw it in his dreams?  Or if it's full of bandits or demons?  What am I supposed to do if I've failed to find the Inquisition a new home?  I need to come up with a plan for what we should do if this won't work, but I can't think of anything."

Bull smiled down at her, hand clenching at his side as he resisted reaching out to touch her again.  "You're not the only one searching for this place, you know.  You've got four people with you who want to find it just as much as you do.  We're in this together."

"But if it's not… if this isn't… and we go back, who do you think they'll all be looking at?  Who do you think they'll be disappointed in?  You?  Cassandra?  The war council may have questions for Solas, but it will be me that all of the civilians look to."

He let out a slow breath and shook his head.  "You're too damn hard on yourself.  You've been tossed in the middle of this crap, utterly unprepared, and you've stepped up.  Shit, more than anyone could have hoped for or expected someone to take on, you've done.  A week ago, you were face down in the snow and nearly dead after facing down an archdemon and having a mountain come down on top of you.  The next day you were up on your feet conducting an Inquisition sing-along, and now you're off on a mission to find a new base and you don't even have the bandages off yet.  And yet you're wondering if you're not doing enough?"

Melora looked up at him, her eyes wide and her lips trembling.  "I--"

"What would be enough?   _What?_  What do you have to give to the Inquisition, to being the Herald, to your Maker and Andraste, before it will be enough for you?  You risk your life every day.  Is that not enough?  You were willing to run out that Chantry door to your death.  Wasn't that enough?  You made me pick you up off that cot so you could stand in front of your people and show them you were still alive, even though I know how much that must've hurt.  Do you have to actually give your life before you'll feel like you've been worthy of the title of Herald of Andraste?"  The words tumbled from him, fast and harsh, almost angry, and Cassandra cast a curious glance back at them over her shoulder, her conversation with Varric fading.

"Bull--" she started, but he cut her off again.

"No, I'm not finished," he growled.

"Bull, look!"  Melora lifted her hand, pointing ahead of them, and Bull pulled his eye from her to look where she pointed.

They had just come to the top of a gradual rise in the path, and beyond, the land sloped steeply away before them, opening into a huge, icy valley, the floor of it a frozen lake of cracked, pale blue ice.  On all sides, the valley was ringed by high, snow-covered peaks, their jagged, snow-draped profiles like crystals against the clear blue sky.  

And at the center of the valley, rising high above sheer, rocky crags, stood a massive stone fortress, its high grey walls solid and strong, only a few of the visible crenelated battlements crumbled away.  It looked to be only accessible via a long, narrow bridge stretched across the valley, and the bridge, too, seemed intact.  Lit from behind by the sun over the mountains, the fortress glowed with the Maker's light, silent and lonely, aged and wholly abandoned but for the few birds which took to the air from the tops of its walls.  

It was waiting… waiting for the Inquisition.  Waiting for _her._

Melora drew in a trembling breath, her eyes shining, and she stumbled to her knees in the snow beside the path.  "Maker be praised," she hushed, unable to say anything more.  She could only gaze out at the fortress, her gaze tracing its great, impregnable walls, darting over the insurmountable sweep from the valley floor up the vertical cliffs upon which the fortress loomed.  Even a small force could hold this immense place, as long as the bridge were defended.  Any invaders would be seen coming from miles away, and would give them time to prepare.  There could be no better strategic position than this.

A huge grey hand was extended into her view, and Bull said from above her, "Come on, boss.  Get up out of the snow.  Let's go see what this thing looks like from the inside."

 

~*~

 

"Well, this looks promising," said Cassandra, looking up at the guard tower at the start of the bridge.  It was fully intact, its walls thick and strong, the stones huge and well-fitted.  A rusted portcullis hung high overhead, and a crumbling wooden door hung on one very rusty hinge allowing entry to the interior.  It collapsed when Cassandra pushed on it, sending up a cloud of dust and debris.  Cassandra coughed, waiting a moment for it to settle back again, and then ducked inside, taking a quick look.

"I hope we salvaged some cleaning supplies from Haven," she said as she emerged again a few moments later.  "Repairs will be needed to the portcullis and its mechanism, and this door, of course.  The roof may need some work as well.  But the stone structure seems whole and undamaged."

"Whoever designed this place really knew what they were doing," Bull commented, flicking a finger against the stone.  "Looks like there's another portcullis at the far end of the bridge, too.  Damn smart.  Only way anyone could take this place is from the air."

"Good thing our enemy doesn't have an archdemon… Oh, wait," said Varric.

"Still," Bull said, "Line those battlements with archers and even an archdemon's going to be having a pretty bad day."

"Great. I'm guessing that means if Corypheus and his pet show up, I'll be shoved up to the battlements too," Varric said with a sigh.

"Or off of them, if they get sick of your complaining," Cassandra shot back, the faintest smile upon her lips.

"Maybe you could just yell at the archdemon till it goes away, Seeker?  That seems to be your preferred tactic for dealing with conflict."

Cassandra glared at Varric, but there was a gleam in her eyes and colour in her cheeks, and Melora couldn't help but smirk.  Despite what seemed like mutual dislike, the two of them usually walked side by side these days, their conversation an interplay of words and glances, and they had long since given up grumbling about having to share a tent.  It warmed Melora's heart, to see a friendship growing between the two of them.  They had a history, and from what she'd learned of it, they'd gotten off to a rocky start.  Seeing them actually enjoying each other's company pleased her.  Better that than hating each other and having to spend so much time together… no matter how they did still act as if they disliked one another.  It was a comfortable framework for their interaction, and one neither of them seemed willing to give up.

"As enthralling as it is to listen to the two of you snark at one another, perhaps we should proceed to the fortress?" Solas said, a subtle smile on his lips and in his tone.

"Yes," said Cassandra, "The quicker we can verify that the Inquisition can make use of it, the quicker we can return to the camp near Haven to notify the others."

"Then perhaps the Herald should go first," Solas said, still wearing that same faint smile.

"I like it," said Varric, giving Melora a grin.  "The Herald of Andraste, leading the way to the new home of the Inquisition, blazing a trail…. well, you're not so much blazing it as shuffling along an old bridge…  Eh, it needs work, I'll make it sound grander in editing.  Anyway, after you!"  He made a sweeping gesture with one arm toward the bridge.

Melora gave them all a thin, nervous smile and took two steps toward forward before she stopped where she stood, still within the shadow of the guard tower.

"What's the problem?" Cassandra asked, sounding a little impatient.

"I… I can't--" Melora stammered, a cold sweat upon her brow.

"Your feet bothering you or something?" Varric asked, frowning.

She shook her head slowly, backing up another step, stumbling into Solas.

"What's wrong?" Bull asked her, stepping forward past the others.

"The bridge," Melora managed to say, trembling with fear.  "I can't.  It's… I just can't."

"It looks to be perfectly safe," Solas said, his voice calm and reassuring.  "If it were going to collapse, it would have done so long ago under the weight of the snow, or the stresses of the wind."

"It's not… I don't… Oh, Maker, please don't make me do this," she whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut.

"What are you afraid of?" Cassandra asked, her tone incredulous.  "Heights?"

Melora gave a quick, emphatic nod.

Cassandra sighed wearily.  "Well it's not as if there's another way across.  You're just going to have to--"

"Hey, just… give me a minute with her, alright?" Bull said, holding up a hand to wave the others off.  Cassandra grumbled, but they all moved off, talking amongst themselves.  Melora doubted they were saying anything particularly nice about her, though after a moment it seemed Cassandra was more interested in a thorough inspection of the guard tower.

Bull stood before her and took a deep breath before he said, "You gotta do this.  You know that, right?"

"I know," she whispered, and she looked down at her feet, but then felt his fingertips beneath her chin, guiding her face back up to look at him.

"You've faced crap way scarier than some old bridge."  His voice was low and soft, a deep, reassuring rumble.

"But most of those things didn't make my knees feel like they're made of water."

"Would it help if I went across first, to show you that it's safe?  If it can take my weight, it can certainly take yours."

Melora shook her head, frowning, and tried to look back down, but again, he brought her back up to look at him with a gentle touch.  "It's not… I know it's not rational, but I can barely breathe and I think I'm going to cry.  And I've _been_ on a bridge that collapsed, right after the Conclave.  Not as big as this one, but… that moment when the world fell out from beneath me… I've had almost as many nightmares about that as I have about seeing everyone undead and eyes full of red lyrium."

"Then I tell you what.  We're going to go across together, you and me.  I'm going to hold your hand, and you can close your eyes and just walk, if that'll help. Think you can do that?"

"You could just carry me," she said, forcing herself to smile at him.

Bull smirked and shook his head.  "I could, but you need to do this on your own feet.  Because the next time you go this way across this bridge, you're going to be leading the entire Inquisition across.  And it's not gonna look too good if the only way you can make it over is me scooping you up and throwing you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes."  He extended his hand to her, and said, "You can do this.  It's just walking.  You're safe with me.  You know that, right?"

Melora slipped her hand into his, feeling his fingers close warm and reassuring around hers, and she nodded.  "I still feel like I'm going to be sick, but at least maybe it'll be on your boots and not my own?"

"Hey, if it helps, I can take one boot off and you can puke right in it."

Melora laughed in spite of her fear, squeezing Bull's hand.  "I don't think that'll be necessary."  

"Yeah, well, you just let me know.  And at least you're laughing now.  You ready?"

"No," she said, "But I'll do it anyway.  Just… promise me you won't let go."

"Never."  

There was something odd in the way he said the word, but Melora just swallowed hard and looked toward the end of the bridge.  "Then let's go," she said, loud enough for the others to hear, and she kept her eyes open for the first two steps before the trembling started again and she squeezed them tightly shut.

She could feel Bull's hand, solid and strong around hers, and she could feel the snow beneath her boots, the wind cold against her cheeks.  She could hear the crunching footsteps of the three following behind, and the cries of birds flying overhead.  And step by terrifying step, she made her way across the bridge.  Her mind was screaming with fear, but she forced herself to breathe slow and even, and to keep walking.  He would not let her fall.

After a few minutes, Bull squeezed her hand gently in his and said, "You should open your eyes."

"I can't," she whispered, shaking her head.

"You can.  We're halfway there.  And you should see this.  I've still got you.  I'm not letting go.  Open your eyes, Melora."

Her eyes fluttered open, and the clenching fear in her belly released when she looked out across the bridge at the gates of Skyhold.  A huge iron portcullis stood halfway open, orange-red with rust, and the great stone walls rose high overhead, flanked by the jutting barbican.  The remnants of old flags flapped in the wind, the sunlight streaming from behind the fortress. And when she turned her head to look around, she brought her other hand to her chest, overcome by the beauty of the sight.  

The view was _magnificent_.  Past the bridge, the floor of the valley was crystalline blue ice, flowing in a thin, shining ribbon, presumably to eventually spill into Lake Calenhad far to the east.  The jagged, snow-frosted mountains were cloaked in shifting white clouds, illuminated by the sun.  The largest peak was just beyond the fortress, rising high above it, huge and majestic.  A few pine trees clung to the cliffside before the fortress, and everywhere, birds dotted the sky.  Despite the cold, there was life here.  She could see it in the birds and the trees, but she could feel it too, a trembling in the Veil, like music faintly heard on the wind.

"Oh, Bull," she hushed, soft with reverence.  "Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?"

She was too distracted by the view to notice that Bull was looking at her rather than the mountains as he said, "You know, I don't think I ever have."

Melora looked up at him then with bright, gleaming eyes, breathless with awe, and all she could do was beam a radiant smile at him, laughing with delight and joy, with pride at herself for having made it this far.  Now it was her turn to pull him along, and he chuckled softly as he followed her, her eager enthusiasm infectious and endearing.  She was unafraid now, and as they approached the drawbridge and portcullis on the far side, the snow covering the stone bridge faded.  She hesitated for a moment before stepping onto the open drawbridge, but the timbers were incredibly thick, reinforced with iron cross-beams which were speckled with rust but intact.  The second portcullis also stood open, and beyond it, they could see into the bailey.

As they stepped inside, the temperature changed dramatically, from well below freezing to almost warm, and she tugged off her cowl, tucking it into her belt.  Melora looked down at the ground, covered in low plants, and realized she was standing in a puddle.  Not ice, but liquid water, well above freezing here.  And everywhere, there were plants growing.  Trees swayed gently in the breeze, bushes clustered against the stone walls, vines climbing over a fallen walkway.  In the center of it all, up a flight of moss-slick stone steps, stood the keep: a huge building, its front studded with high windows and a graceful balcony.  Another section of the bailey lay to their right, inaccessible past the rubble, and much of the rest of the fortress was difficult to see past a high retaining wall.

"Whoa," said Varric, turning in a slow circle, taking it all in.

"What he said," agreed Bull.  "This is…actually, this is really clever.  There's three physical barriers to get in… Far portcullis, the drawbridge, a second portcullis… And there's those walkways along the sides of the entrance back there you could have guys too, out of reach but still able to fire on any invaders.  Or douse 'em in hot oil or pitch. And then even if you can make it in here, up at the top of that wall there, you've got the height advantage to station archers. The access is so beautifully controlled.  Whoever built this thing was a fucking genius. Really knew what they were doing, and made this thing damn near impregnable."

"Do you think Cullen will approve?" Melora asked him.

Bull grinned.  "Defensive architecture like this, yeah, I think this'll do."

"We should explore the rest of this place.  But carefully," said Cassandra.  "Having stood empty so long, the structure may be weakened in places.  Take care where you step, and what you walk beneath."

Melora nodded, and headed toward the nearest stairway leading up toward the largest building, leaving the others to explore elsewhere.  It was only when she started to climb the steps that she realized she was still holding Bull's hand, and she glanced back at him, giving him a nervous smile before she reluctantly slipped her hand out of his, the warmth of his touch fading slowly from her fingers.  She flicked her eyes to the ground and then made herself turn and make her way up the stairway.

The moss was slick under her boots, and she had to be careful to keep her footing as she climbed, Bull just behind her.  At the top of the stairs, they passed through an arch, and then it opened up on another wide area containing the upper bailey, with two good-sized buildings near the walls, and a large open area in the center.  Melora turned, looking up at the biggest building, and could not help but flash Bull a grin.  All of the rest of it was interesting, true, but she wanted to see what was in there.  A second stairway led up to the door, and she had to resist taking the stairs in twos and threes, her feet still too sore and the stones too slippery to risk a fall.

When they had reached the top, they stood before a huge wooden door with iron reinforcements.  The doors were shut tight.

"Should we knock?" Melora asked, her tone hushed as if she were worried that someone inside might overhear, but a smirk on her lips showed her jest.

"I don't think anyone's home."

"Then maybe we should let ourselves in."  With that, she reached out to give one of the doors a hard shove, but it didn't budge.  Either it was barred, or something was behind it, or perhaps the hinges were just stuck or rusted.

"Stand back," Bull told her, and she took a few steps back.  Bull took a step back himself and threw off his cloak in a single motion, the fabric billowing to the ground behind him.  He eyed the door, and then delivered a mighty kick to the double door's right side, the muscles in his back rippling beneath his skin with the flex of his arms to maintain his balance.  The door flew open with a thundering boom amid the screeching protest of the hinges, slamming back against the wall and then rebounding.

Maker's breath, that was an image she wouldn't soon forget.

Bull turned back to her with a self-satisfied grin, but she could only stare at him, lips parted, and it took her a bit too long to ask, "Can you do the other side now, too?"

He raised a curious eyebrow, glancing at the open door and said, "I'm pretty sure even I can fit through there.  Come on, boss."

She scooped up the discarded blanket and tucked it over her arm, following him into the darkened interior.  She could hear his boots crunching on something, and it was so dark inside, she could barely see a thing.

"Watch your step," Bull said.  "There's a bunch of crap on the floor.  Don't trip."

There was indeed a great deal of debris scattered over the floor.  Mice ran for cover and dove into piles of rotted straw, and sparrows flitted in and out through a hole in the roof.  There was a mildew smell in the air, an old woolen rug running the length of the room within almost entirely rotted away.  Chunks of decaying wood were littered about, the remains of old furniture.  Part of the ceiling had collapsed, a pile of boards heaped to one side, and a great metal chandelier fallen upside-down on the floor.

At the far end of the great hall, tall stained glass windows let in streaming blue sunlight, and above them, a magnificent rose window.  The glass seemed almost entirely intact, the colours still vibrant ruby and cobalt, with only a few small sections needing repair.  Whoever had made these windows, they were undoubtedly Andrastian.  The windows were a stylized depiction of Andraste receiving her visions from the Maker, the betrayal of Andraste, and Andraste's burning.  The rose window had at its center the sunburst of the Maker, wreathed in the holy flame of his bride.  The windows were certainly not original to the structure, but they were still very old, and as Melora's eyes flicked from window to window, she realized something strange… Andraste was not only depicted with a sword, but also with a hand of flame.  Andraste… was a mage.

Melora stared up at the glass, her breath caught in her throat, and she stepped up onto the dais before the beautiful stained glass, the light through it upon her face, and she sank to her knees and folded her hands before her, bowing her head, and she spoke with reverence though her voice trembled.

"O Maker, hear my cry.  Guide me through the blackest nights.  Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked.  Make me to rest in the warmest places.  O Creator, see me kneel, for I walk only where you would bid me, stand only in places you have blessed, sing only the words you have placed in my throat.  My Maker, know my heart.  Take me from a life of sorrow.  Lift me from a world of pain.  Judge me worthy of your endless pride."  

Melora swallowed hard, hot tears flowing down her face, dripping from her jaw onto her clasped hands, and she continued even as the words broke.  "My Creator, judge me whole.  Find me well within your grace.  Touch me with fire that I be cleansed.  Tell me I have sung your approval.  O Maker, hear my cry.  Seat my by your side in death.  Make me one within your glory. And let the world once more see your favour.  For you are the fire at the heart of the world, and comfort is only yours to give."

The light through the glass seemed to glow brighter for a moment, and Melora swiped away her tears with her fingertips, sniffing softly, her eyes tracing those beautiful images of Andraste once more, lingering upon Andraste's face in the first panel.  It was almost as though Andraste were gazing benevolently down at her, at her Herald.  

When Melora got to her feet, Bull was watching her, frowning slightly, but he looked away as soon as he saw her eyes on him.

"We have to go back," she said, the words coming fast, breathless and hurried, "We have to return to the camp, right now.  We have to tell them to come, to guide them here."  Melora started for the door, to go and find the others, to head back toward Haven.

"Hey, wait a second," Bull started, stepping over a broken bench toward her. "Yes, we'll go back.  But it's going to be getting dark in an hour or two, and we'll have to bed down for the night.  Better here than in the snow, and it gives us time to look around a little more, maybe make some notes on what's here so we can report back with some good information for your war council."

Melora shook her head.  "We could go now, get a couple hours head start on getting there.  We could even keep going after it gets dark.  I bet we could find enough materials here to make some torches, and--"

Bull shook his head, lifting both hands and sweeping them to the sides, as if to wipe away the very idea.  "No, no way.  The way here was dangerous enough in the daylight, with a cliff on one side and boulders threatening to crash down on our heads on the other.  We aren't risking making the trip back in the dark.  Besides, how would we even explain that to Josephine, Leliana and Cullen?  'Oh, yeah, we found this great fortress, really spectacular, but we were in such a hurry to get back that the Herald fell off a mountainside, sorry!  Anyway, pack your shit and roll out!'"

She frowned up at him, breathing a long sigh and said, "You're right.  I just… oh, Maker, I can't wait to get them here.  They're so vulnerable out there and this… this place is more than I could ever have hoped for."

He gave her a soft smile, and walked with her back out of the great hall to look for the others and see what they had found.  "I know it is.  This is pretty perfect, and they're gonna shit themselves with joy when you bring them back here and show it to them."

Melora laughed, shaking her head, and tossed his makeshift cloak at him.  "You've got a silver tongue, Bull."

"Maybe I'll show you what else it can do," he said with a smirk.

"Wait, what?"  Melora stopped in her tracks, staring up at him, blinking rapidly.

Bull froze too, eye darting from side to side, and he stammered, "I, uhh… Crap, sorry, force of habit."

They'd reached the door, and Melora looked up at it for a moment, thinking of the last huge door she'd exited, running from the Chantry in Haven right after kissing him.  She'd never thought she'd be standing somewhere like this with him afterward.  Never thought there would even be an afterward.  She wondered if he thought of that night too, but she turned back to him with a faint smile and said, "I was merely confused, not offended."

Bull opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, making a quiet little _hm_ noise before he said, "I'll keep that in mind."

"Come on," she said, "Ever seen a Seeker cry?  Because I'm pretty sure Cassandra will when she sees those windows."

Bull chuckled and extended a hand toward the stairs. "After you, boss."

~*~

They returned to the camp a full day faster than their outbound journey, their speed fueled by excitement, and helped along by the fact that Melora's injuries had further healed.  Her feet were still bandaged, but she had discarded the crutch and was breathing easier, and by the time they made it back to find the camp moved a short distance to the north west, she was walking strong and sure again.  

Cassandra had taken extensive notes on the fortress, detailing the fortifications and structure.  Varric had written a rather flowery description of the grandeur of the place, which was of less strategic value but certainly helped morale when he read it to a breathless and amazed audience of dozens at the camp… and then immediately they demanded he read it again, and again, a larger crowd growing each time.  Solas had made several sketches, both of the general layout of the place as well as more artful drawings of the high towers, birds flying overhead and the mountains silhouetted behind by the setting sun.  Between these and the long debriefing with the war council, it was not long before the entire camp was abuzz with the news.  There was a flurry of activity as preparations began at once, packing up those things they needed to bring, and deciding where they could lighten the load.

They'd started the journey north the next day, wasting no time, eager to be behind strong, solid walls.

The snow-covered peaks of the Frostbacks provided them with a vast landscape in which to hide from their enemy as they travelled.  And though the freezing expanse offered little in food, fuel, or shelter for the huge band of soldiers, refugees, and fighters, there was a purity to their journey through the snow.  They had been burned at Haven - some of them quite literally.  Now, they had been distilled to their essence, given purpose beyond simply stopping the fighting between mages and Templars, beyond bringing peace.  Now, they had an enemy and he had a name, and a face.  Melora had seen it and spat in it.  She would see the end of him.

They moved north, Melora at the head of the line, which stretched long and thin as they travelled.  There were so many of them, so many defenseless civilians, kept to the middle of the group and flanked at the head and rear by soldiers.  Anyone who knew how to hold a weapon was given one.  Anyone with a strong back was given a load to carry.  And anyone who was weak, and needed help, they were given that, too.  No one was left behind, no matter how sick or old or fearful they were.  She set a pace that they all could move by, and they followed, the diminutive figure of the Herald limping along with all the rest of them behind her.

They had tried again to give her a horse, and when she had refused that, they asked if she would ride on one of the gurns, the huge pack animals they had managed to bring with them (simply by virtue of having them pastured in the right area outside Haven).  This she had refused as well, offering her seat to a baker with a broken leg.  

In spite of their need for caution, and their relatively slow pace, they made remarkably good progress, the days staying cool but not cold, and bright with warm sunlight.  It was still much slower than the small group had managed, but that was to be expected.  The gurns were able to pull large rocks out of the way to allow the rest to pass, but this slowed their pace even further.

When they broke for camp each evening, teams were dispatched to scout nearby, to bring down any game they found, and to locate any resources they could.  Fuel was difficult to come by, but the mages had developed a technique for heating the ground beneath the tents, and after the Herald herself had begun sleeping in a tent warmed by magic, the rest soon requested it for their own.  They even began to use magical flame to cook with, once everyone had grown used to sleeping in a warm tent rather than a freezing one.  It meant they travelled lighter than they would have otherwise, and they were able to keep some timbers for creating bridges and walkways where the path sloped dangerously toward a cliffside.

While the others clustered around the fires at nightfall, talking and laughing, in high spirits on this adventure, Melora retreated to her tent the moment it was set up.  She heated it herself with a spell, and then slipped beneath the blankets each night.  She knew she should be more social, should make her face seen around the campfires, learn the names of the civilians, laugh with the soldiers, accept sips from flasks and clap hand to shoulder in warm camaraderie.  But she couldn't.  She just wanted to be alone, and for once, she was glad of the solitude and luxury of a tent all her own.  Everywhere she went in camp, she was greeted with a rousing, "Herald!  May the Maker's light shine upon you!" and "By the Lady, you have done well, Herald!" and the like.  Her shoulder and ribs had started aching again from so many spirited claps on the back. It seemed wrong that she had her own tent, with so many sharing with strangers, packed tight together for warmth and lack of space.  But she was glad of the solitude it afforded her, the retreat it gave her from so many eyes.  

She thought of inviting Bull to join her, but he had spent the journey camping with the Chargers, walking with them, too.  He'd been quiet on the way back, and they had barely spoken since they had returned to the Inquisition camp.  Melora couldn't help but wonder what she might have done to cause it.  Had it been her remark to him when they were exploring the fortress?  It seemed that every time she made the slightest advance, he pulled away.  Just force of habit, he'd said.  Of course it was, and nothing more.  And she'd tried to invite him to continue, in spite of his unease.  He didn't want her, and she was a fool to keep trying.

She lay awake in the darkened tent, whispering the Chant of Light to herself, staring into the green glow of the mark on her hand, and trying to ignore the growing pain of it, until finally sleep would take her.  She considered it a blessing when it was a blank and dreamless sleep, clouded neither by nightmares, nor dreams of the Iron Bull.

On the sixth day, they reached the fortress, cresting the hill along the old road that led to the bridge, and when the others caught sight of it for the first time, there was a wave of gasps and cries from behind her.  Skyhold, it was called, as Solas had named it. _Tarasyl'an Te'las_ , in the ancient Elven tongue.  "The place where the sky was held back."  A fitting name for the base of the Inquisition.

Melora led them across the bridge, fear gripping her in its fist, squeezing her breath from her lungs, but she held her head high and walked without hesitation onto the snow-covered stone, the tracks of her and her companions still visible from where they had passed here before.  She looked down at them, at the parallel set of small footprints next to enormous ones, remembering the terror she'd felt when she'd taken those steps.  Her chest ached as she looked down at those footsteps in the snow, remembering the feeling of his hand in hers. It had been so sweet at the time, reassuring and warm. Now, it just felt hollow and cold. She kept her gaze trained on the end of the bridge, ignoring the fear inside her at having to cross the high bridge, ignoring, too, the unease she felt looking down at those old footprints. The entire Inquisition walked along behind her, and she would not let them see her falter.

Melora looked up at the stone fortress as she passed beneath the entrance and into the lower bailey, feeling the warm, damp air of the fortress around her.  But there was a chill in her bones that she could not shake. She forced herself to turn and smile, standing at the entrance as the Inquisition streamed in across the bridge. She counted them, as they came, every man, woman, and child. And as they trickled in, the smile grew more genuine. She had gotten them here alive despite the dangers, despite the mountains and the snow and the dangerous cliffs, they were here, with high walls around them and a view for miles.  If their enemy attacked them again, they would be ready. They would survive.

~*~

"Ossie!" Melora greeted the boy with a smile, finding him sitting in the lower bailey near the healers.  His splinted leg was propped up in front of him, but they'd given him a set of scissors and old cloth to cut into bandages for the other wounded.  His leg had been broken in the chaos at Haven when half the roof of the house he'd been in had come collapsing down on him.  He was lucky to be alive.

"Melora!" Ossie smiled too, setting down the scissors and gesturing to a seat on a crate nearby. "You're looking all healed up."

"Looks can be deceiving," she said, sitting down beside him. "You should see my feet. But the healers say I can keep all my toes, thank the Maker."

"Where's your friend?  The big guy."

Melora gave a little shrug. "I can walk on my own now, but he's around."

"You know, there's a lot of rumours going around about you and him." Ossie crossed his arms over his chest and looked at her from the corner of his eye, smirking.

"Are there?"

"Mmhmm. I listen, of course. Gotta keep an ear out. I bet I'd make a great spy."

Melora pressed her lips together in a faint smile. "Maybe in a few years, you would."

"You don't want to know what they're saying?"

"I have a feeling you're going to tell me whether I ask or not."

Ossie made a small hmph noise, uncrossing and recrossing his arms dramatically.  When Melora said nothing more, Ossie sighed and said, "Fine, I'll tell you!  You've pried it out of me."  He paused for dramatic effect, raising a finger and said, "First, you gotta explain to me what 'had a woman' means because I'm not sure I quite understand and I think that might be important."

Melora's eyes went wide and she looked up at the boy incredulously.  _"What?!"_

"Something one of the soldiers was saying. I tried to remember his exact words, what was it again… Something like  'I ain't had a woman in weeks, and that big bastard's having a different one every night, sometimes men as well, and sometimes two at once! Now I hear he's having the Herald too!' And then he said something about having to get himself a helmet with horns, and the other soldier he was talking to said something about him already having a horny helmet and--"

"Maker's mercy, Ossie!"  Melora laughed in horrified amusement.

'What?"

"Alright, first of all, no more listening in on the soldiers. That's… not the kind of education a boy your age should be having. And… 'having a woman' means sex. Had sex with a woman."

"Ohhhh!" Ossie nodded. "I thought that's what they meant, but what a weird way of saying it. So the Iron Bull is having all kinds of sex with lots of women… and men… and you too?"

Melora shook her head emphatically, her cheeks reddening. "I have no idea what Bull gets up to at night, but it's not me."

Ossie almost looked sad, frowning at her. "But you like him. I mean, you _really_ like him. It's obvious, the way you look at him."

"I shouldn't be talking to you about this, Ossie. You're just a kid."

Ossie rolled his eyes. "You think I don't know what sex is? I've been in a Circle since I was eight. There's only so many places people can have privacy, and they make damn sure we know how to keep from having any more little mage babies."

Melora frowned, but she knew what he meant. A Circle provided few opportunities for a truly private tryst, and it was not uncommon to stumble upon a couple quietly rutting in a darkened alcove, robes hiked up to their waists, sweating and grunting and trying to finish before one of the Templars made their rounds. Young mages learned quickly to turn on their heel and walk away and pretend they'd seen nothing… especially if one of those involved had been a Templar.  

"Even so," she said, shaking her head again, "It's not something I really want to discuss with you, Ossie."

He huffed in annoyance. "Yeah, yeah, fine.  But I figured you ought to know that the whole Inquisition thinks you and him are… having each other. And if you're not, well, maybe you should be."

"Ossie!"  She stared at him in wide-eyed shock.

"What? Why not? I mean, if they're gonna be thinking you are already, you may as well… He doesn't seem real picky, if that soldier was right."

Melora frowned down at her feet. If Bull was entertaining someone different every night in his tent, what was wrong with her that she was never one of them? She sighed and brought a hand to her forehead, shaking her head. "It's complicated, alright? Let's just leave it at that."

It was then that Bull strode up, giving her an amiable smile. "Hey there.  How's it going, boss?"

"Fine," she said, ducking her head with a little smile and trying not to blush.  His timing couldn't have been worse, but she was still happy to see him. He stood over her, backlit by the sun and so damned big. Maker's breath, he was magnificent, shining silver, that crooked grin of his warming the chill deep within her, and she forced herself to look away.

"How about you, Iron Bull?" Ossie asked, grinning from ear to ear, white teeth gleaming bright in his dark, impish face. "You _having_ a good day?"

Melora pinched the flesh between her eyes, sighing, but Bull only smiled at the kid and gave a nod. "Yeah, doing good.  How's the leg?"

"Oh, I'm _having_ a great time laying around at the moment, but I'm sure it'll be all better soon and then I'll be _having_ a good run around." Ossie kept grinning, staring at Melora and waggling his eyebrows.

Bull gave him a curious look, but he was still smiling, and he said, "Glad to hear it. Hey, boss, Josie sent me to find you when I passed her in the yard. She wanted to go over a few things with you about the repairs to this place."

"Sure. I'll talk to you later, Ossie," Melora said, pushing herself up off the crate and striding away with Bull at her side. When they'd gotten near the staircase leading to the upper bailey, Melora turned back to give Ossie a glare over her shoulder, but the boy just threw his head back, cackling with raucous laughter.

"So, uh, what was that all about?" Bull asked.

Melora shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Next time I think it's a good idea to try to save a teenage boy, please stop me."

Bull laughed. "You know that wouldn't work, right? You collect all the stray puppies and make 'em join up."

She sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I know, just some of them need to learn when to stop barking."

Bull chuckled, but said nothing more, and they walked together in silence up the stairs. When they reached the top, Melora turned to him, and said softly, "Four hundred and fifty four."

"Hm?"  Bull raised an eyebrow, tilting his head.

"Four hundred and fifty four people made it to Skyhold, not counting you, me, Cassandra, Varric, and Solas."

"I thought it was four hundred and fifty three before."

"It was. One of the civilians, she was pregnant.  She had her baby at the camp while we were gone. A healthy, fat baby girl with a full head of hair.  I saw them earlier, the mother relaxing radiant in the sunshine with the baby at her breast.  Do you know what she named her baby?"  Her eyes sparkled with the threat of tears, her voice trembling.

Bull gave a little shrug, his smile urging her to go on.

"She named her Melora.  She named her baby after me.  Because of what I did at Haven, she said, and for getting everyone to safety here."  A tear rolled down Melora's cheek and she swiped it away, sniffing, looking away from him and taking a deep breath.

"It's a good name, boss."

Her eyes shone as she gave him a wide smile.  "You think?"

"Yeah.  I mean, it's alright."  Bull grinned, slipping his arm around her and hugging her gently to his side, mindful of her shoulder, and Melora could not help but give a tearful laugh, so grateful for his touch that the tears flowed anew.  "Could do with an article in front of it, though.  Oooh, or an adverb.  How about… 'Suddenly, Melora!' or… 'Look out, it's Melora!' or, hey, I know...'Ironically, Melora'?"

Melora sniffed again, wrapping an arm around his waist, and she hugged him close, wishing she didn't have to let go.  She knew this moment would be fleeting, that he would wander off and leave her to the war council again, that the only time she truly had him to herself was on the road.  And she resolved then to leave again as soon as possible.  She couldn't stand his seeming avoidance of her and the rumours any longer, and at least when they were away, she could share a tent with him, even if it was not in the way all those others apparently did.  She was already making plans when he released his arm around her, sending her on her way to find Josephine.

 


	11. Chapter 11

"We're going to fight her, right, boss?  Please tell me we're going to fight her!"  Bull turned a wide, imploring eye to Melora, clenching and unclenching his hands with excitement.

They were pressed beneath an overhang, the grass just beyond still aflame from where the circling dragon's last fireball had hit.  The air stank of smoke and sulfur, and shimmered with heat around them.  Melora pressed her hand to her mouth, coughing, and glad her ribs had finally healed fully.

"Seeker, you're the dragon expert," said Varric, looking up at Cassandra.  "What do we do now?"

"Try not to get killed," Cassandra replied, smirking slightly.

"If we're to secure the Hinterlands, we can't very well have a high dragon here, especially not with this valley being so useful for mining.  Not to mention what it will do to the ranchers' herds," Melora said, taking half a step forward to peer at the sky.  The dragon had been circling for the past half hour, and it was only by a stroke of luck they had found an overhang large enough to protect them from its fiery breath.  But the sky was empty now but for plumes of smoke.  "I think she's landed somewhere.  Probably not far."

"We're actually going to do this?" Varric asked, disbelief clear in his voice.  "Today? Now?"

"I… I think we can make it work," Melora said.  "And I don't think Bull would ever forgive me if we left now.  If you all are willing, um… Let's go fight a dragon!"

"Have I ever told you how great you are?" Bull asked her, laying a hand on her shoulder and squeezing her gently, giving her a wide grin.

"You're welcome to tell me at length later, assuming we don't all die," Melora replied, smiling in spite of herself.  She'd never seen him look so excited, and for it to be turned toward _her_...

"We take down a dragon, I'll be telling everyone how great you are.  You're not gonna be able to shut me up."  

The group began to move further into the valley, skirting the burning patches of foliage and heading toward an open area that seemed a likely place for a dragon to land.

"Perhaps you could begin practicing now," Cassandra said, narrowing her eyes at Bull.  "The shutting up part, I mean."

"Aw, come on, look at him!  He's like a big bouncy puppy that's just been given a big, meaty bone."  Varric chortled.

"Hey, this is far from my first big meaty b--"

"No."  Cassandra cut him off with a glare.  "Just stop right there."

"Maybe we should all stop?" Melora glanced back at them.  "I've never fought a dragon before but I'm pretty sure it's considered dangerous for a reason."

"It is," Cassandra said, lowering her voice.  "The scales on the top of the body are extremely thick and heavily armored.  Any blows to those areas will have to be very strong and very deep, and all they will do is bleed the creature, weakening it further.  But that gives it time to fight back, and this one seems to have plenty of fire in it… quite literally.  The underside of it is much softer and easier to cut, but it is also far more dangerous as one risks being trampled, hit by its tail, or caught in its jaws."

"So what would be the best way to take it down, then?" Melora asked.

Cassandra pursed her lips, thinking, and said, "Bull and I should keep the creature distracted.  Varric can target its eyes, so that it can no longer see us.  And perhaps you should just stay out of the way."

Melora stopped where she stood, blinking at Cassandra. "What?"

Cassandra stopped as well, turning back to look at Melora.  "One of us falling to the dragon would be sad and unfortunate.  The Herald, on the other hand…"

"Are you making hand puns, Seeker?" Varric asked, smirking. 

Cassandra made a disgusted noise, glaring at Varric before turning back to Melora.  "You understand my meaning, do you not?  The three of us can take the dragon, and you should stay at a safe distance."

Melora shook her head, laughing softly.  "Cassandra… Do you truly believe I would stand back and let you fight a dragon without me?  You said it's least armored on its underbelly, right?  Well… If you and Bull can keep it distracted, I can run up underneath.  I may not be able to do much damage with the blade of my daggers, but if I can jab one in deep enough, I can cast into its innards."

"Underneath?"  Cassandra gaped in horror.  "Out of the question.  It is far too risky.  You could easily be stepped on."

"Yeah, like I haven't heard that enough my whole life," Melora said with a roll of her eyes.

"Mmhmm," agreed Varric.

"How about this," said Bull, still smiling, gesturing as he spoke, "Cassandra, you keep it distracted.  Plant the blade of your shield in the ground and duck behind it, you should be able to keep a good defensive stance even against a dragon.  Melora can place a spell on your shield, a barrier of cold, so that it will protect you even from the fire breath.  Varric, work on blinding it.  I'll try to disable its legs so it can't move around so much.  And let me worry about the Herald."

Cassandra shot him a skeptical look.  "You?  Why you?"

Bull suppressed a smirk as he said, "Hey, boss…"  As soon as he saw Melora's eyes on him, he tipped his head back twice quickly, a wordless signal.

Melora could not help from smiling, and she dropped her pack.  As she dashed to him, Bull hunched low enough for her to reach.  Melora hooked the toe of her boot into the back of his belt and used the harness over his shoulder as a handhold to hoist herself up.  She clambered up onto his shoulders, one knee on each side, and both elbows on his horns, propping her chin in her hands, and grinning down at Cassandra.

Before Cassandra could splutter a reply, Bull tipped his head forward twice, and Melora sprang from his shoulders, pressing off on the top of his head to clear his horns before landing neatly with bent knees in the dirt in front of him.  She straightened up and could not resist taking a bow in Cassandra's direction.

Cassandra brought a hand to her forehead, shaking her head.  "You can't be serious!  You cannot expect to defeat a dragon through… whatever that is."

"That," Bull said, "Was just a quick demonstration.  There's simpler stuff, too, but it doesn't look half as cool.  I tell her where to go, she does it.  I tell her to get out of the way, she dodges.  She gets to use my experience and knowledge of strategy without having to spend years learning it.  And I make sure she doesn't get trampled or eaten."

Cassandra turned to face Bull directly, squaring her shoulders and staring him in the eye.  "Are you absolutely sure you can keep the Herald safe?"

"She's safer with me than any other place in Thedas."  Bull raised his chin, crossing his arms over his broad chest, looking Cassandra in the eye.

"Even when we're attacking a dragon?" Cassandra asked.

Bull nodded, almost solemn in his seriousness.  " _Especially_ fighting a dragon.  I've been wanting to do this my whole life.  You think I'm gonna let anything happen to any of you?"

"Very well, then.  The Herald is your responsibility.  If she dies, you had better hope you do, too.  Or I will make you wish you did.  Do not make me regret this."

"Yes, ma'am," Bull replied, grinning.

~*~

Melora had never seen a creature so huge and so _grand_.  The dragon was even more magnificent close-up than it had been circling the valley and spitting fireballs at them, its scales gleaming gold and bronze.  And it was as terrifying as it was beautiful, determined to kill them just as much as they wanted to kill it. They all moved together as a team, Varric standing far out of the way and pelting the creature with bolts, Cassandra moving with amazing speed despite her heavy armor and shield, keeping the dragon's attention.  Bull worked at the dragon's legs, slowing its ability to move, and Melora got in as many slashes as she could, learning quickly that if she chilled her blades with ice, the wounds seemed to go deeper, and bleed harder. 

But it seemed as soon as they began to wear the dragon down, it would beat its wings, knocking them back with a great rush of air, and leap away, giving it a chance to turn on them and breathe fire upon them again.  Several times, it was only Bull's command that gave Melora warning enough to get out of the way, moving without thinking, just doing as he said.

"Boss!" Bull had shouted over the rush of hot air as the creature took to the sky again, "Come here! We've got to stop her flying.  Disable the wings!"

It had taken her a moment to understand his meaning… But she acted before she had a chance to think, dodging another fireball and running to Bull's side.  And when the dragon landed again, she felt his breath on her ear, low and hot, " _You can do this.  I'll catch you.  Try not to stab me too._ "

Then his hands were around her waist, lifting her with ease, running with her, and with a grunt, she felt herself flying through the air, wind whistling past her ears, directly toward the dragon.  She resisted the urge to shut her eyes.  She should have been afraid… but she was just _exhilarated_.  

Melora drew her daggers mid-air, gripping them tight, but when they plunged through the membrane of the dragon's wing, she nearly lost her grip, scrambling for purchase with her feet.  Pulled along by her weight, the daggers sliced down through the dragon's wing, shredding the membrane and rendering the wing useless.  The creature forgot Cassandra for the moment and whirled to train its one remaining eye on her, the other eye pouring blood and fluid around a crossbow bolt.  It roared at her, hot and stinking, but she was descending fast enough that its jaws closed around air when it snapped at her.  

And then she'd reached the bottom of the wing, and suddenly she was free-falling.  She remembered what Bull had said, and she fumbled to re-sheathe her daggers in the belt at her hips.  She caught a glimpse of blue sky and bleeding, shredded dragon wing just before she squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself to hit the ground.

She fell instead into Bull's waiting arms, cushioning her fall.  She looked up into his face with surprise.   and setting her upright on her feet.  They exchanged the briefest of grins before he nodded toward the dragon.  "Freeze its guts, and then get the fuck out from under it," he ordered her.

Melora did not hesitate, and she dodged the dragon's front leg as it took a step back, scrambling beneath its belly.  The heat coming off the dragon was intense, like standing next to a smith's forge, and Melora had to squint against the air dancing in front of her view.  The scales on the creature's belly were dark, shining copper, with paler veins of gold between them, and it was there, low on the dragon's belly between its back legs, in the place between two scales that Melora aimed, thrusting up hard with both daggers together.  The dragon raised its head to the sky and screeched, the sound deafening, shifting as it tried to get away from the sudden pain in its underside.  But she moved with it, and poured every bit of her will through her daggers, their focii glimmering brightly as she conjured a blizzard in the dragon's innards.  The dragon screamed again, and Melora pulled her daggers free, a torrent of blood drenching her to the skin as she shoved her daggers back into her belt.  She dove for safety, rolling through the dirt and just barely making it clear of the dragon as it crashed to the ground.

It clawed at the dirt in front of it, struggling, thrashing wildly, and all of them backed away so as not to be caught by a writhing leg.  It seemed to be struggling for breath, laying its head down in the dirt, eye rolling in pain, but it had lost the will and ability to fight back.  It was finished… but it was not yet dead.

When it ceased its thrashing, its chest rising and falling slower and slower, Bull took a few steps forward, staring in awestruck wonder at the dying creature that lay at his feet.  He shouldered his axe and reached out to place a hand on the dragon's neck, feeling the heat still coming off of it, and he grinned widely, showing gleaming teeth as he said to the dragon, " _Ataash katar, vat-ataashi.  Taashath-ost, asala esaam kost_."

Bull turned to Melora, and said, "End it."

Melora came to Bull's side, next to the dragon's head, and she looked into its eye as she stuck one dagger into its neck behind its jaw, and sent a freezing lance of magical ice deep into the creature's brain.  She felt a pang of regret, at having to end the life of such an amazing beast, but its death had been certain as soon as the fight had begun.  This was just a completion of what they had already started.  With a gurgle, it closed its eye, and was still.  Melora pulled her dagger free and stepped back.

There was silence then, a strange stillness after the long, loud fight.

Then, Bull _roared_ , a wordless sound of savage delight.  He was spattered with the creature's blood, Melora drenched in it, blood dripping from their fingertips and soaking into the ground as they turned to one another with wide eyes, standing next to one of the front legs of the freshly dead beast.

It was Melora who cracked a smile first, and Bull grinned too, from ear to pointed ear, and he pumped one fist in the air and shouted to the sky, the sound turning to rich, booming laughter.

"THAT! WAS! AWESOME!" Melora yelled, bouncing in the red stained dirt.

"I KNOW!" Bull shouted back at her, and he gave a deep, rumbling growl of delight. "You should've seen yourself, shredding that wing!"

"Yeah, but you were the one who threw me up there in the first place!"  She cackled and pointed at him.

"That was so bad-ass!"  Bull laughed again, with such intense relish that Melora could not help but laugh with him.  He beamed with incandescent joy, and Melora could not look away.  Bull looked at the dragon laying nearby, smoke still rising from its nostrils, and then he turned that vivid, slightly crooked grin back to her.  Splattered in blood, smeared with smudges of soot and dirt, shining with sweat… she had never seen him more beautiful.

Before she knew what was happening, he scooped her up, hands wrapped around her waist, and spun with her, her braided hair flying out behind her to describe a wobbling arc in the air.  He stumbled, laughing, and hugged her to him, crushing her in such a tight bear hug that she could scarcely breathe.  Melora sucked in a breath when his grip slackened slightly, and she found she was still grinning, throwing her arms around his huge, thickly muscled neck.  The adrenaline and thrill of victory made her feel almost drunk, and he spun her round again.  Melora shrieked happily, pressing her face against his shoulder, clinging tightly to his neck and laughing with helpless glee.

"Yeah, we're fine too!  Thanks for your concern!" called Varric to the two of them, a dozen paces back, scowling as he checked over Bianca after the long battle.  Though a few stray fireballs had come his way during the fight, only his coattails were slightly singed.

"Leave them alone," Cassandra said to him, a faint smile upon her lips, a fresh but superficial cut on her forehead.  "Have you ever seen either of them so happy?"

"They're completely filthy, laughing their asses off beside a dragon corpse.  We all could have died, and _they're_ having the time of their lives."  Varric slung Bianca over his back, and then crossed his arms over his chest.

"I do not believe that this is entirely about the dragon," Cassandra said, still wearing that small smile, watching as Bull set Melora back on her feet, holding both her hands in his and beaming delightedly down at her.

"That's gonna be trouble," Varric said with a weary sigh.

"I think it's romantic," Cassandra said, her voice taking on a dreamy tone.

"You do?"  Varric's eyebrows raised as he looked up at Cassandra.  "You are full of surprises, Seeker."

Cassandra turned her head only a fraction, looking down at him from the corner of her eye, and despite the gruffness in her tone, her smile still had not faded.  "Not a word, Varric."

Varric chuckled and clapped her on the back, shaking his head.  "I wouldn't dream of it."

~*~

The butchering of the dragon required assistance, and the soldiers stationed at the Inquisition's forward camp just outside of the valley were fetched to help with the messy job.  The scales and skin were highly prized, as were the bones, claws, and blood.  But almost every part of the dragon could be used somehow, and nothing went to waste, packed away or dried as best they could.  They worked for two days in the sun until the remains of the meat and blood were stinking, and there was nothing left but bits fit for only the crows.

Melora led the way back to Skyhold with borrowed horses laden with the treasures acquired from the kill.  The scales and bones would make for exquisite armor and weapons, and the skull, requiring a horse of its own to carry, would look magnificent hung in the main hall.  It would be a grand statement piece to show the Inquisition's power to all who came to Skyhold.  In her own pack, she carried a small wooden box, filled with tiny vials of the dragon's blood.

The moment they stepped through the gates of Skyhold, Melora requested a bath be filled for her, and as soon as the war council had been informed of their return, she slipped into the bath and scrubbed herself until she shone pink and smelled of violets.  Then she ate half a chicken, intensely hungry and terribly sick of travel rations, along with some roasted root vegetables they'd brought her.  Then she pulled on a clean blouse and trousers and slipped her feet into a pair of soft leather slippers, and found herself drawn back out again, unable to sit still in the temporary room they'd given her overlooking the courtyard.  She had not become any less restless.  Skyhold would protect those she cared for, an excellent base for the Inquisition… but it still felt like a cage.

The whole of Skyhold was already abuzz with talk of the dragon kill, and she didn't even get halfway through the bailey before she'd been slapped on the back a dozen times.  She hurried along to the tavern, her loose and still-damp hair falling across her face.  The tavern was still undergoing repairs but had been opened for business, with years worth of spiders and mouse droppings cleaned out, and new tables and chairs thrown together by the carpenters. And as soon as the word had spread of the Inquisition's survival and new presence in the Frostbacks, the tavern flowed with wine, beer, ale, and even a small amount of mead.

The Herald's Rest, they had insisted in calling it, hanging a plaque inside the door and everything.  Melora tried not to let it bother her, and truly, after a cup or two of ale, it didn't… much.

The moment she stepped through the door, all eyes turned to her, and there came a raucous cheer that sounded something like " _Eeeaaaayyyyy!_ " accompanied by many cups raised in her direction.  Melora laughed and gave a self-conscious little wave, ducking her head, wet hair fanning across her cheek as she fled toward the bar before anyone could corner her and ask her to tell the story.

"Hey, boss!" called Bull, sitting on a stool at the bar. "Come, have a drink!"

Melora grinned and hopped up on the stool beside him, and Bull poured her a drink, looking at her with a devilish grin.  "To killing a high dragon like the warriors of legend!" he growled, and slid a full tankard over to her.

Melora peered over the rim of the tankard at the dark-coloured liquid inside.  The smell was strange, like pine needles and bile, yet somehow also spicy and sweet, and eye-wateringly alcoholic.  "What's this?" she asked.

" _Maraas-lok_ ," he purred, smiling at her as if that explained everything.

"And that means…?"  She raised an eyebrow, sniffing at the tankard again and making a face.

"It means drink!"  he laughed, picking up his own tankard and waggling it toward her.  He seemed to have had a few already, a looseness about him as he wobbled slightly on the barstool.  He'd gotten cleaned up, too, his skin scrubbed and clean, smelling of soap and freshly-oiled leather.

Melora looked down at her reflection in the tankard, and then took a deep swig.  The liquid spread over her tongue, and she forced herself to swallow, immediately coughing and spluttering at the fire that seared the back of her throat.  Melora leaned forward over the bar, hand over her mouth, eyes watering, and set the tankard down.

"Maker's balls, that is _foul_!" she croaked.

Bull snorted a laugh.  "I know, right?  Put some chest on your chest!"

Melora forced herself to take another tiny sip, letting the intense burn of the alcohol and the heat it was spiced with spread across her tongue and throat.  "At least it tastes better than it smells," she said, drawing a laugh from Bull.

"That dragon!"  Bull looked into her eyes as he spoke, leaning his forearms against the bar, tankard between his hands.  His voice was rough with ferocious delight. "That little gurgle right before it spat fire… and that roar.  What I wouldn't give to roar like that!  The way the ground shook when it landed, the smell of the fires burning…"

His words were slurred slightly, and he flicked his tongue over his lips.  " _Taarsidath-an halsaam._  Here, your turn."  He poured more into her tankard, despite her having only drank a few sips.

She forced herself to take another swig, finding it was growing less painful and disgusting with each sip, and she was starting to feel warm all over, comfortable and relaxed.  "That thing you just said.  The... tar syrup hot damn thing.  You said that when we killed the dragon.  What's it mean?"

"Oh."  Bull chuckled softly.  " _Taarsidath-an halsaam?_ "

Melora nodded.

Bull tipped back his own drink before he grinned and said, "Closest translation would be, uh, something like… 'I will bring myself sexual pleasure later, while thinking about this with great respect.'"  He almost looked embarrassed. _Almost._

Melora's eyes widened and she took a deep drink of the foul alcohol, ignoring its burn, and she swallowed hard before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.  "You shouted that while it was breathing fire at us!"

"I know, right?"  Bull gave a deep, enthusiastic grunt that could be mistaken for nothing but arousal.

Melora drank again, staring dazzled into the dark interior of her tankard.  In her mind's eye, she could see him, the mental image inescapable… Bull laying back, completely naked, silvery body tense and shining with sweat in shadow and moonlight, one massive hand wrapped around his huge, rock-hard cock.  Growling, writhing, his horned head full of fire and blood, veins and cords standing out on his thickly muscled form as he brought himself closer to a gasping, groaning release.  Melora took another deep swig, feeling the strong alcohol sinking into her limbs and not at all helping to distract her from that mental picture.

Bull laughed, clapping her on the back a little clumsily in his growing inebriation.  "Might wanna slow down there.  You try to match me drink for drink, they're gonna have to scrape you up off the floor."

Melora put her tankard down on the bar, blinking and speechless.  His hand was still on her shoulder, and she found herself extremely aware of just how huge he was, flicking her eyes down to his thick fingers resting on her upper arm, almost as big around as her slender wrist.  If his fingers were that big, then how big was...

Bull began talking again, interrupting her thoughts.  "You know, Qunari hold dragons sacred?  Well, as much as we hold anything sacred."  He tilted his head to look at her better with his good eye.  " _Ataashi_.  The glorious ones. That's our word for them.   _Aaaataaaaashiiiiii_.”  He drew the word out, rolling it in his mouth as if he were tasting it, a pleasant smile on his face.

"What is it that makes them so special to Qunari?  Besides being… dragons."

Bull grinned at her, and Melora tried not to look too obviously disappointed when he took his hand from her shoulder and rested it back around his tankard.  "Well, you know how we have horns?  We kinda look more dragony than most people.  Maybe it's that.  But a few of the Ben-Hassrath have this crazy old theory… Y'see…"

He cleared his throat then, crossing his arms across the bar in front of him.  "The Tamassrans control who we, uh, mate with.  They breed us for jobs like you'd breed dogs or horses.  What if they mixed in some dragon a long time ago?  Maybe drinking the blood, maybe magic.  I dunno.  But something in that dragon we killed… spoke to me."

Melora looked into his face, frowning.  "Should we not have killed it?"

Bull chuckled.  "Naahh.  Dragons are the embodiment of raw power.  But it's all uncontrolled, savage.  So they need to be destroyed.  Taming the wild, order out of chaos.  Have another drink."

"What's it like, living under the Qun?" she asked.  "It sounds… so strange.  Controlling who you mate with?  That's just..."

He snorted, side-eyeing her.  "You writin' a book?"

Melora laughed, shaking her head.  "So Varric already asked you, huh?"

Bull laughed too, nodding as he took another sip, and then he rolled a shrug.  "It's not so strange.  Different rules, sure, but it's mostly just people living their lives, same as here.  A baker in Val Royeaux, they get up, get dressed, and start work.  A baker in Par Vollen does the same thing.  They're not thinking about the Empire or the Qun.  Mostly, they worry about breaking eggs and hope the dough rises right."

"It can't be that similar.  Under the Qun, there's no personal freedom."

He gave her a stern look.  "You have much personal freedom living in the Circle?  That baker in Val Royeaux have it?  Freedom's for nobles, bandits, and nugs.  The baker in Par Vollen wonders if she'll be given enough eggs to do her work, whether they'll come on time, and if the kitchen workers will get her bread while it's still fresh, or bitch because they came late and it's stale.  You get the same crap in Val Royeaux.  Doesn't matter where you are. People are just people."

"But Qunari don't have a family."

He snorted again, narrowing his eye and shaking his head.  "The fuck we don't.  May not be related to them by blood, but they still look out for you, you look out for them, you keep in touch.  I know for you folks, not knowing your parents is a big deal, but… Qunari, we're raised in these units of kids all our own age by the Tamassrans.  They're like teachers or… Chantry sisters, I guess.  And the Tamas, they do all the parent stuff.  Taught us to read, helped us go to sleep, all that.  They also help figure out what jobs we should do.  Had me pegged for military work early on.  But when they learned I could hit stuff and lie, they started training me for the Ben-Hassrath.  I remember the one who helped me build things with blocks.  She laughed when I knocked everything down.  May not have been my mother, but I was as close to her as a human kid would be to… I dunno, an aunt or something."  He smiled at the pleasant memory.

Melora sipped at her drink.  "So if you don't have families like we do here, I'm guessing there's no equivalent… um, I mean…  Qunari don't, um, pair off or get married."

Bull cleared his throat, laughing a bit.  "Yeah, that's true.  We love our friends like anyone, but we don't have sex with them."

"Oh."  Melora tried to hide her frown, letting a slow breath out through her nose.  Her disappointment was obvious even in a single word.  Was that why he'd bedded half the Inquisition, but wouldn't so much as flirt with her?  Because those others were essentially strangers?  "Qunari must have sex though..."

"Oh, we definitely have sex.  There's Tamassrans who'll pop your cork whenever you need it."

She couldn't help but stare.  " _...seriously?_ "

Bull chuckled, nodding.  "Yeah.  It's not a big deal like it is here, though.  It's… I dunno, like going to see a healer.  Sometimes it's this long, involved thing.  Takes all day, leaves you walking funny.  Other times, you're in and out in five minutes.  'Thank you, see you next week.'"

Melora considered this.  No sex with friends, visiting the Qun's equivalent of a prostitute.  Her cheeks reddened, but the strong alcohol made her brave enough to ask, "So does that mean that you've never really, um… you've never really made love, then?  Never felt that connection that's soul-deep with someone?"

Bull shrugged and gave her a lopsided grin.  "I dunno.  One time they used this thing called a _saartoh nehrappan_.  It's sort of a leather-wrapped rod on a harness."  He paused, scratching at his chin with his fingertips.  "I guess that wasn't really my _soul_ though.  Also, there were more than two people."

"You say things like that just because you know it'll make me blush, don't you?"

Bull reached out and pinched lightly at one of her pink cheeks.  "Yeah.  Yeah, I do."

Melora ducked her head, blushing even more, and then she smirked up at him.  "That was also a very complicated way of saying no."

Bull nodded very slowly and deliberately, wrapping his hands around his tankard.  "I suppose it was."  He took another deep swig and then refilled his tankard and hers and said, "Y'know, I could ask the same of you."

"Huh?"  She was feeling more than a little fuzzy-headed.  "Ask what?"

"You ever been in love?  Gazed into someone's eyes while fucking and felt the universe open up before you or… whatever it is?  It's always described with such weird analogies in books."

Melora's eyes went wide a moment and then she shook her head, hunching her shoulders.  "No.  I mean, I've… I've had sex.  And had feelings for people.  But it always seemed like there was something I was missing."

"Maybe it's just some shit they made up to sell romance books then."

"Maybe."

The elven serving girl came over behind the bar, giving a warm smile directed entirely to Bull, and she leaned over further than was at all necessary, ensuring Bull got a nice view down her top.  "Anything I can get for you?" she asked.  "Anything… at all?"

Bull smirked.  "A little bowl of them salty nibbly things would be nice.  Brought my own drinks for tonight."

"Sure, hon," she said, swishing away with a deliberate sway of her hips.

Bull seemed to ignore the girl as she left and then he turned to Melora.  "So, arright, you're no blushing virgin so… Well, the blushing part but… You're away from the Circle, can do as you like, badass Herald of Andraste off kicking ass across Thedas.  Yet you're all tense and wound up, and you clearly need someone to pop your cork.  No Tamassrans around here to help out, but you could have anyone you like."

Melora looked down at her lap, frowning, and muttered, " _Apparently not_ ," under her breath.

"How 'bout Cullen?" he asked, stroking at his beard thoughtfully, having not heard her, or ignoring what she'd said.  "He probably looks damn good under all that fur and bluster.  And I'm pretty sure he'd be interested.  All that concern about your safety, that's charming, right? And you do know, he stares at you every time you're near."

Suddenly, an already awkward topic had become even more so, and Melora sat up straighter, blinking.  "What?"

"Shit, you hadn't noticed?  Oh.  Maybe I shouldn't have said anything."

"You're joking, right?"

"Nah.  Watch, you try touching his arm sometime.  He'll jump back like a cat who stepped in a puddle."

Melora frowned and shook her head.  "I'm not going to… _no_.  Just… not Cullen.  He's so serious all the time.  And he's a Templar.  I'm a _mage_.  I… he… He _scares_ me, alright?"

"Huh.  Well, I guess I can see how that might… well, arright then, how about Blackwall?"

She must have looked utterly aghast, because Bull took one look at her and burst out laughing.  "Well, that's another no!  Arright, uhh… Solas?  You've spent a lot of time with him talking about magic-y Fade-y stuff."

Melora shook her head again.  "Yeah, I don't know… No.  He's… decorative, I guess, but he reminds me too much of some of the older mages from the Circle.  Too full of himself, too set in his ways, always talks like he's lecturing.  I do like talking to him about magic and how the Veil works, because we only got one version of that in the Circle, and the way he talks about it is so different, and really interesting.  And it actually works, unlike half of the weird theory stuff we were taught in the Circle.  But I don't have any desire to, uh, crack that egg."

Bull snickered and took another drink.  "Arright, fine, uhhh… Varric, then."

Melora spluttered on her own mouthful of her drink, forcing herself to swallow and blushing anew.  When she was able to speak again, she nodded sheepishly and said, "Yes.  I would.  I _really_ would.  He's very pleasant to look at, and those _arms_!  But I'm pretty sure he's strictly crossbowsexual."

At this, Bull snorted a laugh, having to sit his drink down.  Melora smiled, watching the little crinkle of laugh lines at the corner of his eye, almost lost against the rugged planes of his face and all the scars.  "I dunno about that.  You haven't noticed the way he looks at Cassandra?" Bull asked.

"Really?"  Melora giggled.  "I thought it was just me seeing that.  Oh, that is _lovely_ , truly."

"Well, Varric's, uh, busy seeking something, so, uhm, how about Krem?"

Melora smiled, looking down at her hands.  "Heh, um, yeah, actually.  He's very handsome.  But I'm pretty sure he's got a bit of a thing for that scout.  What's her name, Harding?  The cute dwarf."

Bull nodded knowingly.  "Yeah, can't blame him for that one.  Those freckles, bet she's got those _all over_."  He made a low growling noise that made Melora's eyes go wide.

She coughed a little, trying to look nonchalant even as she had to hold onto the bar to keep from falling off her stool and said, "I think they'd be adorable together."

Bull grunted his approval and drank again.  "Well, hmm, who else?  Don't think you'd really be Dorian's type, if you know what I mean."

Melora nodded.  "He is _gorgeous_ though."

"He really is.  Uhh, lessee, what about the weird spirit kid, Cole?"

Melora leaned back, aghast.  "That's… not even… _no_!"

Bull shrugged, refilling her tankard again.  "Arright, arright.  Well, uh, m'running out of options here.  Women, then?"

Melora gave him a smile that she hoped looked more coy than timid, though with how much she'd had to drink, it probably just looked sloppy and weird.  "Sometimes."

He glanced aside at her, smirking.  "Well, then.  Red?"

"Leliana is very pretty, but she's also really scary."

"Hah, yeah.  Mm, how about Cassandra?  She is _fierce._ "  He said the word as if it were synonymous with hot.

Melora was blushing again.  "Yeah, oh, she really is.  But she'd crush me with all that plate armor, and I'd feel bad for getting between her and Varric."

Bull laughed.  "Fair enough.  Uh, well then… You seem pretty close with Josephine.  And she really goes out of her way to make sure you're comfortable.  It's kinda sweet."

Melora smiled.  "Yeah…  Josie is so lovely, but we're just friends.  I mean… maybe?  But having talked to her some on the way here from Haven, she's just so damned innocent.  I know that's not really her fault, and some people like that sort of thing, but I don't think that'd really work for me, y'know?"  Melora twisted a piece of her still-damp hair around her finger.

"Heh, yeah, I know exactly what you mean.  Arright, uh, who else?  Lady Vivienne?"

"Don't you mean _ma'am_?"  She elbowed him with a smirk.  "She is incredibly beautiful, and she knows it.  But every time I speak to her, I end up grinding my teeth. She reminds me of the senior mages in Ostwick, all 'mages are dangerous, it's good we're locked up.' Rubbish. Maybe just once, if she promised not to speak the entire time, or about it after, ever.  Maybe.  I'd have to be pretty drunk though.  More than I am now."

Bull chuckled.  "Is that everyone?  Wait, no, Sera?"

"Umm… Yes and no?  On one hand, she is super cute and really fun to be around.  I like her a lot.  On th' other hand, past that whole rarrrr exterior of hers, she's so fragile.  I don't begrudge her that… flailing fear she has.  I understand it.  There's a part way back in my head doing that too, at all this shit.  But I don't have time for it.  And, well, th' way she talks about Andraste, and me being Herald, I just don't think it would work."

"You gotta very pragmatic way of looking at this stuff," Bull said, and his words were getting even more slurred, almost as much as her own.

"Do I?"

"Yeah.  S'good."  He leaned heavily on the bar, nodding at her.

"Well, I think that's about everyone, unless I start listing every soldier and stablehand in the Inquisition."

" _Is_ it everyone?"

"Well, I mean, I guess… Except for _me_."  He was chuckling as he said it, as if the very idea were absurd.

"Yes."  Melora said just one word, nothing else, and then she tipped back the rest of her drink, setting the tankard down a little too hard, and she wouldn't look at him again.

"Yes what?  Yes, we forgot me?"  He leaned toward her, still wearing that lopsided grin of his, even as she avoided his gaze.

He was leaning so near to her, she had to look back at him now, blinking up at him, her vision blurring.  But she couldn't stop staring at his mouth, the scar at one side, the texture of his lips that she could almost feel against hers, the memory of kissing him at Haven so strong in her mind.  He was just so damned close, almost leering at her.  She could just lean forward a bit, and kiss him…  

But he was drunk.  Very drunk.  And so was she, and she already knew he didn't want her.  He'd said as much just a short time ago.  Qunari don't have sex with their friends.  He was just messing with her, making fun of her and her obvious attraction to him, and she looked away from him again, her heart sinking.  She hadn't thought he'd be so _cruel_.

Bull reached over, topping up her tankard again.  Melora forced a smile onto her face, lifting the tankard into the air, determined to not let him see the hurt in her.  "To dragons!" she said, too loudly.

He laughed, crashing his tankard against hers, sloshing the smelly booze over both their hands and the bar.  "Yeah!  To dragons!"

They drank together, Bull coughing his down, laughing as he swiped at his mouth with his fist.  Melora's head was already so foggy, and quaffing more of the nasty stuff wasn't helping.  She wrapped her arm around Bull's to steady herself and keep from falling off the stool, her fingers curling around his bicep, and she could not resist giving an appreciative little squeeze.  He was so damned firm and solid, and he felt so _good_.  Damn him and his stupid muscles, damn his dumb lopsided grin, damn his laugh and his kindness and his fucking cruelty.

Whatever he was, whatever he'd been doing tonight, he'd helped her slay a dragon, gave her the killing blow.  She never could have imagined doing something so amazing, and he'd been there with her, kept her safe, laughed with her covered in blood in one of the greatest moments of her life.  Slurring, she said, "To th' Iron Bull!"

Bull grinned down at her and replied, "And to his tiny, ass-kicking Herald!"

Melora stared up at him as he quaffed his drink, her own forgotten, and she wondered if she'd heard that right.  Had he meant to say it that way, with a possessive pronoun?  But this was the Iron Bull, the man who'd specified an article at the beginning of his name with thought and purpose behind it.  She pushed her drink away and lay her head against his arm, clinging to him as the tavern spun around her. _His._  If only.  Melora closed her eyes with a sigh.

She thought she felt a great, heavy hand on her head, ruffling her hair affectionately, before she started to snore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bull's words to the dragon, very roughly (and probably poorly, Qunlat grammar is... ambiguous at best): "A glorious death, fire dragon. Calm, your soul is at peace."


	12. Chapter 12

Melora sat on the high retaining wall separating the upper bailey from the lower, the start of a sock growing stitch by stitch in her hands. She let her feet dangle over the edge, and now and then, she looked down at the ground beneath her, despite the cold sweat that it drew to her skin and the sick feeling it gave her in the pit of her stomach. It wasn't even that much of a drop. If there hadn't been the temporary infirmary set up there, she probably could jump off and roll and come out with nothing more than a twisted ankle. If she was to be at Skyhold so often, at least she could force herself to deal with the heights to be found there. She took a deep breath and fixed a column of stitches she should have purled instead of knit, and she watched yet another horse laden with goods led through the gates, its owner blinking in astonishment at the sudden change of temperature. This was the third merchant just since she had been sitting and watching, and it seemed there would be many more by the end of the day.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cassandra approaching up the stairway, and she turned to her with a friendly smile.

Cassandra nodded her polite acknowledgement, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly, and she came to stand beside Melora, arms held behind her back. She looked out at the lower bailey, at the gathering merchants and traders, the civilians and new recruits milling around. Skyhold was quickly becoming crowded.

"If word has reached these people of the Inquisition's new home at Skyhold, it will have reached the Elder One as well," Cassandra said, her eyes scrutinising a pair of traders arguing with one of the guards over where they could set up their wares. The guard pointed toward the stables, where the fallen rubble from the walkway had been cleared allowing passage, but the grass was still high there, the ground sodden and muddy.

Melora turned to look around at the interior of Skyhold, over the tops of the battlements. She knew that there was a sheer, insurmountable drop there, and beyond, the frozen lake, and the mountains. "Surely we can hold Skyhold better than we ever could hold Haven," Melora said, swinging her legs back over the wall and standing. She folded her needles and tucked her knitting carefully away.

Cassandra nodded. "That is true. We have strong walls, and growing numbers to put up a fight here, but the threat we face is far beyond the war we anticipated. This is not just the mages and templars, and more, too, than the Breach and the rifts. What we have on our side now, as important as our defenses, is information. We know now what Corypheus wanted, what drew him to you."

Melora looked down at her left hand, at the glimmer of green light slashed across her palm. It was almost becoming familiar, seeing it there, as if it had always been there, and that thought made her as sick as looking over the drop to the lower bailey. "He wanted this. He said it was his, and that I had stolen it. He said I corrupted it, and so he wants me dead. That I survived at all was pure luck."

Cassandra shook her head, and she began to walk toward the stairs leading up to the keep. "Or perhaps it was the will of Andraste. Your mark, what Corypheus calls the anchor… It has power, but its power is not why you survived." Melora walked together with Cassandra and together they mounted the staircase as Cassandra continued, "Your decision to call upon the mages let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven.  Your will brought us here, to Skyhold. You are the creature's rival because of what _you_ did. And we know it. All of us."

At the circular landing before the keep, Leliana was waiting, holding something, and Cassandra offered the spymaster a smile. Cassandra turned back to Melora and said, "If we are to defeat Corypheus, the Inquisition requires a leader. Who better than the one who has already been leading it? _You_."

Melora saw then that Leliana held across her palms a ceremonial longsword, gleaming and ornate. Melora backed up half a step, her face pale, and then she looked to the bailey below. It was even more full of people than it had been before, and everyone gathered there looked up at her. Cullen and Josephine were there, too… and at the edges of the crowd, the others, all of their fellows.  All of them, all of Skyhold was here, every soldier and civilian crammed into the bailey, lining the stairs, soldiers high on the walls too, so many people. Merciful Maker, they had _planned_ this, cornered her.

Melora shook her head in horror. "You can't be serious! _Me_?" Her voice sounded small, far too high.

"They will follow you. They already have been. This is just making official what is already the case," Cassandra said, her voice reassuring.

"Please, _please_ … I do not want this responsibility. You would make far better a leader than I."

"I know you doubt yourself, but believe me when I say that I have seen your strength, and it is greater than you know. All of these people, those who survived Haven… They have their lives because of you. It is you they will follow. Not me."

"I _cannot_ lead! The words of Andraste herself forbid it. 'Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.' I am a mage!"

"We are not asking just any mage. We are asking you. You are Andraste's Herald. If the bride of the Maker has chosen a mage, then who are we to question what she has intended? The Hero of Ferelden was a mage, and rose to rule Ferelden as queen at the king's side. If the people will accept a mage as queen of Ferelden, they will accept one as Inquisitor."

Melora looked down helplessly at the crowd, her head spinning, and for a moment, she was afraid she would faint. She clenched her left hand into a fist, feeling the sparking buzz of her mark as she sank her fingernails into it, the pain drawing her vision back into focus. She caught sight of Ossie, standing near the tents set up for the healers. He leaned on a crutch, his leg splinted, and he smiled up at her. Ossie, too, was a mage, and barely more than a child. Yet he had already experienced so much fear and death because of his very nature. He had been hunted by the Templars and nearly killed, simply for being a mage who had left his Circle. Had she not found him, he would surely be long dead by now.

Across Thedas, the fate of the mages was still very much in doubt. Many were gathered here, behind Skyhold's high walls, but there were many more attempting to blend into the countryside, or still holed up in their towers. How long until some of them began to succumb to the dangers of possession? How long until any Templars left took it on themselves to invoke the Right of Annulment? With no authority leading the Chantry and the Templar order fractured, it could take little more than a mage looking at a Templar the wrong way to incite violence. It would be the young mages, the children who had been taught little more than how to control their powers and perform a few flashy tricks, who would fall first. They could not defend themselves against a Templar's sword.

"If…" started Melora, the words dying in her throat, and she had to wet her lips and try again. "If a mage can stand against the end of the world, then maybe people will see that we are not to be feared. But I will not rule over these people. I will stand beside them."

Cassandra nodded thoughtfully. "There would be no Inquisition without you. How it will serve, how you will lead, that must be yours to decide. It is… reassuring, that you do not wish this responsibility. I would be far more concerned if you grasped eagerly for this power."

Leliana stepped forward, holding out the sword to Melora, bowing her hooded head in respectful deference. Melora's hand shook as she reached out and gripped the sword, her mark sparkling against the polished dragon twined about its hilt. It was so _heavy_ , yet its weight seemed fitting. It was a symbol as much as a weapon, and Melora struggled to lift it, holding it with both hands so it would not wobble. Accidentally dropping the damned thing was the last thing she wanted to do, however much she wished it was not hers to wield. A hush fell over the crowd, and Melora realized to her horror that they were waiting for her to say something, to make a _speech_. All their eyes were on her, expectant, wanting to hear grand words of inspiration. Josephine had her quill poised above her parchment, ready to write down whatever Melora said… what the _Inquisitor_ said. These words would be recorded for the ages, copied and recopied and distributed across Thedas along with the news of this spreading.

Melora made a tiny noise of panic, the massive sword tilting perilously to one side before she righted it. She would rather face down the archdemon again than this, rather hang over the edge of Skyhold's bridge by her toes. She wanted to throw down the sword and flee, to run out the gates of Skyhold and never look back. Oh Maker, every one of those faces was so full of expectation, all waiting smiles and anticipation.

But at the very back of the crowd, she caught sight of Bull. And he wore no smile upon his face. He crossed his arms over his chest, and his expression was serious, almost grim. He saw her eyes on him, and he raised his chin to her, his gaze steady. Then he inclined his head to her, tilted slightly. _Go on_ , the gesture said, and he added a slight nod. _You can do this._

She remembered the feeling of his huge hand around hers, walking across the bridge to Skyhold the first time. His arm around her just after Haven, lifting her from the cot so she could stand before the people and show them that she yet lived. His words on the snowy journey here. She was not alone, as much as she felt it up in front of this huge crowd.

She ignored them all, put them out of her mind as if they weren't there. Skyhold was empty, as quiet as it had been when they had first found it, populated only by birds and mice… and the two of them. She heard nothing but the sound of the wind rustling the leaves of the trees.

Melora kept her eyes on him, and she began to speak, the crowd utterly silent. "If this is the will of Andraste, then… then I will serve her faithfully. I will strive to understand the burden I have been asked to carry."

Her arms shook with the effort of holding the sword, muscles in her shoulders starting to burn. She had grown strong since the Conclave, but not this strong. Her voice trembled and cracked as she continued. "And if I am asked to lead this Inquisition then I will… I will ensure that it serves all peoples of Thedas."

She swallowed hard, not taking her eyes from Bull. There was a small smile on his lips, crooked with the scar on his left side. She'd kissed those lips before she ran from the Chantry, willing to sacrifice herself to save Haven. For luck, she'd said, but that had been a lie. For strength. For fear it would be her only chance. For want of him.

But now he stood with her in Skyhold, watching her be made _Inquisitor_. She had survived Haven, and the snow after. Perhaps he _had_ given her luck. "All people… whether they be mage or Templar. Whether they are human, elf, dwarf, or qunari. Whether they are noble born, or of common blood. All are equal in the eyes of the Maker, and all must be equal to the Inquisition."

Bull's smile broadened, and he nodded again to her. _Good, you're doing good,_ he said, without saying a word, and in spite of her terror, Melora smiled too, holding the sword more steadily even as her arms ached. "'All men are the work of our Maker's hands, from the lowest slaves to the highest kings.'" She spoke Andraste's own words, knowing the fear Andraste must have felt at being chosen by the Maker, at what was asked of her. For all of her divinity, Andraste had been a mortal woman once, just as Melora was. Melora swallowed hard and finished, feeling tears welling in her eyes, tears not of sorrow or fear but overcome by the confidence they all had in her, the confidence _he_ had in her, evident on Bull's scarred, handsome face. "This enemy we face is a threat to us all, and it is only by standing together that we have any hope of victory."

She had run out of words, and if she said any more, she would surely cry. Their Inquisitor being overcome with tears and dropping the ceremonial sword would surely be a poor start to her leadership. _Her leadership._ The very idea seemed absurd. Melora turned her face to Cassandra, desperation in her eyes along with the threat of tears.

There was an unusual warmth to Cassandra's smile, and she nodded her approval to Melora. Then Cassandra stepped forward to Melora's side, and she called down to the crowd, "Have our people been told?"

Josephine cupped her hand over her mouth and called up, "They have! And soon the world will know of the Inquisition, and its Inquisitor."

"Commander!" Cassandra addressed Cullen, her voice strong and sure, "Will they follow?"

Cullen stepped to the front of the crowd, pacing as he raised his voice to them, shining and strong. "Inquisition! Will you follow?"

A cheer rose from the people, and Melora drew a shaking breath, staring down at them all. They were clapping, shouting, their confidence in her evident in the noise they made, and she could not hold back the tears, nor could she wipe them away, sword still in hand.

"Will you fight?" Cullen shouted his voice strong above the din, and the response was even louder than before.

"Will we triumph?" Cullen demanded, and he could barely be heard over the tumult of noise, deafening as it reverberated against the stone walls of Skyhold.

"Your leader! Your Herald! _Your Inquisitor!_ " Cullen shouted, drawing his sword and raising it high. And as they had after Haven, the others drew their blades as well, the old Andrastian salute of faith and allegiance.

Melora summoned her strength, and lifted the huge, gleaming sword high above her head. She felt crushed under the weight of it, and under the waves of cheers and shouts from the crowd, and she turned her face skyward so that they could not see the tears streaming down her cheeks.

~*~

"Of course, that wasn't the last time we got caught with our pants down with the darkspawn, but it's certainly the most literal example." Varric leaned forward in his chair as he wove the tale, grinning as he glanced around the table. His listeners, too, leaned in, hanging on his every word. Varric let them wait as he took a swig of his ale.

Cullen, seated at the middle of the table, laughed a little too hard, loose with ale, and shook his head. "Please tell me you at least got them back on before you started fighting."

Varric cocked his head to the side, giving Cullen a smirk. "Hey, we were fighting for our very lives, Curly. Sometimes there's just no time for pants."

"Ain't that the truth!" cackled Sera, and she slapped the table with the flat of her hand, clinking coins jumping across the table, left from the game of Wicked Grace they'd been playing, the game long since forgotten in favour of trading stories. Well, mostly listening to Varric tell stories, which didn't seem to bother anyone, least of all Varric himself.

Varric continued on with the rest of the tale, steepling his fingers in front of him, speaking with his index fingers against his lips. The story was nothing too tawdry, just the result of laying clothes on a rock to dry after wading through a cold river when there were wandering darkspawn about. But the way he told it was captivating, drawing in even the barmaids to hang closer to the table, trying to look as if they weren't eavesdropping and failing completely.

Cassandra sat at Varric's side, rolling her eyes and scoffing at the more unbelievable parts of the story, but her frequent smacks of disbelief to Varric's arm seemed to be more an excuse to touch him than any real objection, and the corners of her mouth drew into a smile at his jokes, though she tried to cover it by sipping at her drink. 

Blackwall roared with laughter at something Varric had said, resting his head and forearm on the table and beating at it with his fist, upsetting his own mug of ale and spilling it into his lap. Beside him, Sera howled, leaning against Blackwall's shoulder. Beside the two of them, Solas chuckled politely, watching them with amusement and raised eyebrows. Josephine giggled helplessly, pressing her fingertips to her lips. Dorian smirked, looking over the glass of wine he held cupped in one hand.

Even Cole seemed relaxed, or what passed for relaxed with him, tucked back into his chair and looking quietly at the rest of them through the fringe of pale hair under the shadow of his hat. He had a handful of cards he'd scooped up from the table, and was thumbing through them, muttering to himself.

But at the far end of the table, Melora sat away from the others, half a mug of mead resting against her leg. Every so often, one of the other patrons of the tavern would walk by to slap her shoulder and say a kind word.

_"Buy you a drink, Inquisitor?"_

_"Congratulations, your worship!"_

_"Andraste's blessings upon you, Inquisitor!"_

She tried to smile, to thank them, to sit up straight and look worthy of the title, and at least sip at the growing row of drinks purchased for her. But she could feel herself shrinking, as if the mantle she had taken on were subsuming the person she was. She took a deep swig of her drink, hoping the alcohol would dull her, make her able to enjoy this evening. They'd invited her to come drink with them, pulled her along with them even as she had been desperate to return to the little room overlooking the gardens. All she wanted was a little solitude, to lose herself in a book propped on her lap, to let the yarn thread through her fingers and become orderly stitches, and to forget the ache in her arms from holding that sword aloft. But it would have been rude to decline, and they had all seemed so insistent. Only Lady Vivienne was absent, though it did not surprise Melora that the haughty enchantress had not attended a raucous drinking session in the drab little tavern.

Melora looked over the faces of her friends, bright in the firelight, and she gave a soft sigh. If nothing else, they seemed happy, reassured by the Inquisition having an official leader, laughing and grinning, out of their armor and into their cups. If the cost of their happiness was her discomfort, then she would pay it gladly. They had all had their fill of fear and uncertainty. They could all use a little hope. Melora had Andraste on her side. All her friends had was her.

She took another gulp of her drink, swiping a runnel of mead from the corner of her mouth, and her gaze drifted to Bull, seated at the opposite end of the table next to Varric. He was grinning and shaking his head in disbelief, looking down at the dwarf.

Melora's eyes studied the scars crossing Bull's face and neck, deep gouges in what never would have been a smooth face even without the scars. Yet she found the craggy textures of him strangely interesting, an imposing handsomeness enhanced by that ever-present easy smile. There was a pleasant symmetry to his form, of the downsweep of his shoulders against the expanse and angle of his horns. His hands cupped his tankard, comically small in his grasp. As scarred as they were massive, his hands were thickly calloused from swinging his great axe with a strength that almost made it seem easy. She had seen the devastation those hands could bring, the incredible power that he could unleash with them.

But now, he was cleaned of gore, leaning back in his chair and lit by dancing firelight. And she knew, too, for all his brutality, those hands could be gentle, too. They had lifted her from the cot after Haven was destroyed, helped her remove her boots when she could not, and caught her safely when she had fallen from the dragon’s wing. Her mind wandered as she stared at his hands. What would one of those huge, rough fingertips feel like, dragged slowly across her skin?

But she would never know the answer to that question, or any of the others she had about him. He had made that clear with his avoidance of her, with the way the barmaids giggled whenever they were near him. She'd heard them talking, knew he'd had most of them at least once. She knew his advances were far from subtle… and never directed at her. She had given up on anything ever happening with him, but as hard as she tried, she couldn't get him out of her mind. He was always so close, always at her side, directing her in battle and protecting her from danger, reassuring her fears and helping her be strong. She had no closer friend here. But he would never be more than that. Qunari didn't _do_ more than that, and that she kept having this stupid, foolish hope was just making her angry. Why the fuck did she have to fixate on someone she couldn't have? She was sure she could corner Cullen in his office and be bent over his desk in short order, fear of the Templars be damned. And Sera would probably be up for a quick roll-around just for fun.

But she'd spent months now pining for Bull, and for what? _Why?_ It had gotten her nothing but frustration.

"Hey, _Inquisitor!_ " she heard, as if from far away, and she looked up from Bull's hands to see him looking at her, smirking in amusement. It was Varric who had spoken, and she looked to Varric, blinking at his one raised eyebrow.

"Um. I'm sorry, what?" She flicked her eyes around the table and saw that they were all staring at her. She got the feeling that Varric had called for her attention more than just the once. And here she'd been gazing longingly at Bull like some lovestruck fool.

"I was just asking about the time--" Varric started, and then he waved a hand and shook his head, smiling. "Yeah, you know, actually, it doesn't matter. Nevermind."

Melora hunched into her chair, feeling her face grow hot, and she gave a nervous chuckle. "I'm sorry, I'm just _really_ tired." She feigned a yawn that quickly turned into a real one against her cupped palm, the faint light of her mark flickering green against her face. "I should head to bed. I've still got some reading to do, and it's getting late."

She tipped back the last of her mead and set the mug down on the table, then placed her palms against the armrests of her chair to push it back and stand. She swayed a moment, her limbs heavier and her head lighter than she'd expected. But it was a pleasant sensation, warm and relaxing, and not so much as to make her feel dull or stumbling. Melora gave them all a smile and cast her eyes around the table. "Thank you for inviting me along. Good night."

Josephine pushed back her chair and stood, too, raising a finger. "Ah, Inquisitor, just a moment."

Sera began to giggle, and beside her, Blackwall smiled. Even Cullen cracked a little grin, and Melora looked at all of them in confusion. "Yes?" she asked.

Josephine stepped around the table, coming to Melora's side, and linked arms with her, skirts brushing against Melora's legs. "We have a surprise for you."

Melora sighed a little. "Can't it wait till morning? I am _very_ tired." In truth, she was weary, but wide awake, too agitated from the day's events to sleep any time soon. But she desperately needed to get away from all of them.

The rest of them stood as well, and Melora's eyes darted to each of them in confusion.

"I believe you will wish to see this tonight," Cassandra said, as Josephine pulled Melora toward the door. The rest of them followed, and Melora was pulled along, helpless to resist. The last time they'd surprised her, they'd handed her a sword and asked her to lead the Inquisition. She was none too keen on seeing what they had in store for her next.

It was cool and clear outside the tavern. The wind ruffled through the branches of the courtyard trees, crisp and smelling of soil and horse. A few of Cullen's men were dicing on the benches outside the tavern, and they glanced over at the large group coming out the tavern door, nodding respectfully even as Josephine led Melora along, petticoats swishing noisily against the pleasant sounds of Skyhold settling into evening. When they had first arrived here, that sound had been mostly one of silence, lowered voices, and weeping. Now, she could hear laughter in the air, and the distant, rhythmic clink of the smiths still at work at the forge. A dog barked from somewhere far off.

There was surprisingly little chatter from behind Josephine and Melora as they mounted the steps toward the keep. The slick moss had been cleaned from the stone, and one's feet no longer slid when climbing the stairs. The rest of Skyhold had been kept almost as it had been found, the overgrown plants not removed but gently pruned and tended. Slender vines still climbed the old stone walls of the keep, shrubbery grown high around the sides of the buildings, but the leaves and deadfall had been cleared. The resulting look was one of controlled chaos, retaining some of the wild look, its imposing strangeness. The interiors had been cleaned and renewed, though, with fresh furniture, rugs, and tapestries. And during the daytime, one could always hear the sound of sawing and hammering, the carpenters replacing rotted beams and insect-ruined stairs.

The great hall of the keep was lit with braziers, and as they entered, Melora looked up at the dragon's skull mounted over the entry, where it had replaced the stone owl which had originally hung there. The dragon skull loomed over her, grinning as if it knew secrets it would not tell. She cast her eyes up at its dagger-like teeth, wary as she passed beneath it, remembering how it had tried to close those jaws over her. Her mind swirled with a tumult of disconcerting thoughts, and inexplicably, she found herself remembering that phrase Bull shouted at that same dragon, just before its death. Taarsidath-an halsaam.

Melora pushed the thought away as she was pulled swiftly down the center aisle, Josephine greeting those few left in the hall by name with a pleasant smile and a nod. Melora looked back over her shoulder to see that they were all still following, and Cullen gave her a pleasant smile.

They stopped at the door at the end of the hall on the left side, opposite the way to the undercroft, and Josephine unlinked her arm from Melora, dipping her hand into a hidden pocket in her dress to pull out a key, a red ribbon threaded through it and tied in a bow. She held it out to Melora and said, "This is for you."

Melora took the key, looking down at it in her palm, and frowned confusedly. "But… this door here leads to the tower."

"I did try to warn them of your fear of heights," Cassandra said, "But there was only one place in all of Skyhold that befit your station. The tower is yours, Inquisitor."

"Before your try to protest," Dorian said, "You may wish to know that Vivienne spent the past two weeks decorating it for you, and if you go and refuse, she'll probably set you on fire."

Sera bounced on her tiptoes from the back of the group. "And I told 'em that you needed a cabinet just for your yarn, so there's one of them, full of stuff to make socks! All the colours! I promise not to nick stuff from it too often, yeah? Well, that's a lie, I already took three skeins, but you've got plenty!"

"I told them they should get you a plant. Plants are nice," Cole said quietly, from somewhere around the back of the group.

"Also, we have already given your old room to one of the visiting nobles and moved your things, so if you do not wish to use the tower, I am afraid you will have to sleep somewhere else this evening," said Josephine with a coy smile.

Melora looked down at the key again and closed her fingers around it, shaking her head. "I… I don't know what to say."

"'Thank you' is customary, under the circumstances," said Varric.

She looked back up at them, trying not to cry again. "Thank you. Thank you all, truly. I… don't deserve this."

"Hey, don't get too excited," Varric said. "They could only get the masons and carpenters to do so much so fast, so there's still a big damn hole in one wall of the staircase and a bunch of crap scattered around. And, uh, watch your step on the way up, because there's some railing missing."

Josephine squeezed Melora's arm affectionately. "We will leave you to it, so that you may explore it at your leisure. Get some rest, Inquisitor."

Melora sucked in a breath and shook her head. "Um. Can you… can you not call me that? I mean, I… it's my title, I guess, but unless it's for some formal function where there's other people around, please, just… not Herald, not Inquisitor. Just Melora."

Josephine gave a quick nod. "Of course. I meant no offense."

"I know you didn't. I just… you all are my friends. I'll be called by those titles enough by everyone else. But hearing it from all of you, it's just… it feels strange."

"We will strive to keep that in mind," Cassandra said.

"Good evening, Melora," Josephine said, smiling warmly.

They moved off down the hall, chatting good-naturedly with one another, and Melora was left alone by the door. Her hand trembled as she went to unlock the door, overcome by the gift they'd given her.

Varric had been right about the mess and the disarray. She had to step over several stacks of planks, and there was scaffolding stretching up through the center of the tower. As she climbed, she found more scaffolding, and the hole Varric had mentioned, bracing a large section of one missing corner. She could see outside there, cool wind tugging at her clothes. The mountains surrounding Skyhold lay over the walls, pale moonlight reflecting off the snow in contrast with the starry black of the sky.

Melora made her way up to the last door before the tower room, and she hesitated before she opened the door, staring at the freshly-stained wood apprehensively. She had already accepted the stupid sword, already let them call her Inquisitor. Why was this so difficult? It was just a stupid door.

She closed her eyes, her hand on the door handle. It was because that had been in front of the others. That had been for them. But she was alone now, and if she did this, if she accepted this gift, then she truly was accepting the title of Inquisitor. And that, she did not want at all. She was not fit to lead them. They deserved someone stronger, braver, more confident, someone whose very presence inspired hope and loyalty. Someone like Cassandra. Yet Cassandra, and all the rest of them… they had chosen her. And it was no quick decision. They'd spent time preparing this place for her, somehow kept it a secret from her for weeks. And from the way they had all accompanied her into the hall, they had all contributed to it.

Melora took a deep breath, and opened the door. This was a gift from her friends to her, and though they had given her the title of Inquisitor along with it, this place they had made for her.

Inside, the room was warm and pleasantly scented, white beeswax candles burning in shining sconces and in wrought candelabras. Along the wall to her right, stained glass windows were emblazoned with the insignia of the Inquisition. A staircase led up to the main level, and Melora toed off her shoes before she climbed the stairs. She moved slowly, drawing her fingertips over the handrail, her heart pounding with a strange mixture of anticipation and dread. And when she reached the top of the stairs, she gasped aloud.

The room had been beautifully decorated, a huge rug of deep royal blue lying at its center, emblazoned with the gold sunburst of the Maker. A fire burned in a great hearth, casting a radiant glow to every corner. A silk-upholstered couch, laden with pillows, backed up to the railing near the stairs, and a carved wooden bed sat against the wall, draped with fine bedclothes. Flanked by bookcases in the corner, a large desk was laid with fresh ink and parchment, and a miniature rosebush in a pot sat on the desk's corner, buds closed and ready to bloom.

Melora turned in a circle, eyes wide in amazed disbelief, and she caught sight of the mural over the bed, brightly-coloured and cheerful, shapes stylized but distinctive. Paintings hung on the walls: in one, a garden, lush and verdant, was overgrown with vines and scattered leaves, abandoned but beautiful. Another was a scene of a woman spinning at a wheel in the sunlight, children at her feet and a fat orange cat lolling on the paving stones. A third showed Andraste receiving her visions from the Maker, her palms upraised and her head thrown back in radiant ecstasy.

And beside a wardrobe was the cabinet Sera had mentioned, as tall as Melora herself. Behind its glass doors, it was stuffed full of yarn perfect for making socks. Someone had even twisted several skeins into plump circles, skewering them atop the straight knitting needles that stood in a pretty earthenware vase atop the cabinet, creating the effect of a bouquet of yarn.

Melora stepped to the middle of the room, looking down at the thick rug, and then she sank to her knees in the center of it, closing her eyes and feeling the warmth of the room around her, seeping through her skin. How had she not realized how cold she had been? She'd been freezing since Haven, that chill bone-deep and never fully shaken. But this… it was all so _perfect_ , so _warm_. It was so beautiful and personal. And they had done it all for her, put in so much effort and care, all for her. Melora drew her knees up to her chest, looking at all of the details, sniffling as she did.

She had never had a place of her own before. As a child, her things were never new, always used by her older sisters before her, still even called their things. "Put on Rhaina's brown dress," she had been told, even if Rhaina had outgrown it five years previously. Her room at the Trevelyan estate had been her aunt's before her, and they still called it her aunt's room. And when she had gone to the Circle, it had been made very clear that nothing there was hers, that her room belonged to the Circle, her bed, her clothes, her food, her staff - none of it hers. She was allowed no possessions, nothing at all to call her own. Even the house they had given her use of at Haven was borrowed, the clothes she wore made for someone else and rolled up at the leg and cuffs.

But this… even though she had not chosen this, even though it had all been picked out and done for her… It was _hers_. They had made it hers, all of them together working to create something beautiful and just for her. Melora was sure that if she went and opened the drawers of the wardrobe, she would find it full of clothes already tailored to fit. They'd even laid her knitting on the couch, placed carefully and untangled, not a stitch dropped. Melora hugged her knees, her lips trembling.

Her room. Her things. Her bed. It was all too much, and just right.

She turned around, looking at everything, smiling, and then she burst out laughing. That fucking sword, the one with the dragon wrapped around it… it was hanging over the fireplace. Well, they'd gotten _almost_ everything right.

Melora pushed herself up off the rug, stretching her neck one way and then the other. The heaviness in her limbs from the mead was still with her, and she padded in her socks across to the bed, flopping onto it with a blissful sigh. Oh, Maker, what a bed! No rustle of straw when she moved on it, firm yet soft and smelling fresh and clean. She felt a pang of guilt at that. How much had they spent on this room, on just this bed, on diverting the carpenters and masons to make the repairs when the healers were still operating out of tents in a soggy part of the lower bailey?

She closed her eyes, pressing her lips together tight. It was _shameful_ that she had all of this, when so many others had so little. She did not deserve this. Beeswax candles and a fire of her own and a thick plush rug and a feather bed… How many cots could they fit up here? How many people could be kept warm and safe in this room, when it had been set aside just for _her_? How many displaced people could they have fed and clothed with the coin spent on these ridiculous luxuries? She rolled onto her stomach, burying her face in her hands. But she could see the glow of her mark even through her closed eyelids, and she lay her face against the bed instead, shaking her head miserably.

There came a knock at the door to her chamber, and Melora lifted her face from the bed, looking toward the sound in confusion. She must not have locked the door down below. Though if she did, and they needed her for something, they would have a tough time summoning her shouting up from the garden. But she was still surprised someone was disturbing her now. It was getting late, and unless there was an emergency…

 _The Herald's Rest should only be one level high, because the rest of the actual Herald is damned short,_ she thought, rolling from the bed and heading down the stairs to the door with a sigh. She yanked the door open, unable to contain her annoyance.

Bull stood in the doorway, filling the space entirely with his broad shoulders. He leaned against the outside of the door frame, casual as a cat. He raised an eyebrow at her, wearing a bemused grin and asked, "Am I disturbing you?"

"I… I…" Melora stammered, and then she drew a breath through her nose and shook her head. "I'm sorry. I, um, wasn't expecting…"

"Me?"

"Yes. Or, um… anyone."

"Can I come in?" Bull asked, his gentlemanly tone at contrast with his massive, rugged appearance.

Melora could only nod, blinking rapidly. She stepped back for him to enter, watching as he lowered his head and turned to the side, his head and shoulders too tall and wide to fit otherwise. She could not help but stare up at him as he passed, and she managed to gesture vaguely toward the stairs, pushing the door closed.

Melora followed him up the stairs, utterly failing in all attempts to look away from him, at the way his trousers clung to the backs of his legs.

Bull walked to the center of the room, looking around. "Place came out pretty nice, didn't it? Bit fancy, but I guess it's fitting."

Melora lay her hand on the stair rail, nodding a little. "Yeah. It's, um… it's too much, really. But I think I like it."

"Well, maybe you can send the work crew to me next, then. My room's still only got half a roof."

She couldn't resist a smile. "Cullen was complaining of the same problem with his office."

"So, you like it? The others were so damn excited about it, I think they may have overdone it a little."

Melora looked around at the furnishings again and laughed softly, shaking her head, "Just a bit, yeah. I, um…" Melora sighed and then admitted, "Part of me loves it, and part of me is utterly horrified. It's just so much. Too much."

"Maybe," Bull said, "But you should've seen 'em, rushing around to get everything done before the announcement. Most of it got done while we were off in the Hinterlands, but they were finishing up everything this afternoon. There's probably a couple spots where the paint's not dry yet. It was good for them, though. Gave 'em something to do."

She tilted her head, then, peering at him. Surely he wasn't here to discuss her decor. "So, um… Is there something I can do for you?" she asked.

Bull turned his most devious, crooked smile upon her, and he flicked his tongue over his bottom lip. "Well, actually, I'm here about what I can do for you."

Melora could only stare, frozen on the spot, her heart pounding. He couldn't possibly mean…

"Listen," he started, and with a mellow roll of his shoulders, he advanced on her. "I've caught the many, _many_ hints. You want to ride the Bull. Can't say I can blame you. But I'm not sure you know what you're asking. Not sure if you're ready for it." His words rumbled low, thunder promising a storm.

He came to a stop just in front of her, unusually close. He was _immense_ , not only in size but in presence, towering over her. She could feel the warmth of his body, reaching out to her through the air between them.

Melora looked up at him through her eyelashes, and her head swum, not just from the drink. She had imagined so many scenarios, allowing her mind to wander behind closed eyes before she drifted off to sleep, but she had never expected this to actually happen. This had to be a dream, or perhaps she had lost her mind entirely.

She lifted one shaking hand and lay her fingertips against his chest, feeling the heat of his skin against hers, and she thought she must have imagined his slight, sharp inhalation. He was real, and very, _very_ solid against her touch. He looked down at her, so damnably smug and confident that she had to fight the urge to give him a playful, exasperated shove, the way she'd have done if they'd been out on the road. But this was not the road. This was something far different than ever before, and while she had been alone with him before… it had never, ever been like this. Bull just looked down at her with calm patience, the faintest of smiles turning up the corner of his mouth, twisting the scar through his lip.

Melora studied his face as she had done so many times before, her eyes tracing his rough, irregular contours. She took an unsteady breath, and she could smell him, he was so close. Petrichor and earth, oiled leather and hot metal.

"I… I don't understand," she stammered, her brows drawing together. "I thought you didn't… oh Maker, I don't even know what you're offering. I am so confused."

Bull shifted his weight, smirking down at her, leaning in even closer. "Maybe I should show you."

Melora nodded.

In a blink, Bull took half a step forward, and in the same motion, he seized one of her wrists in each hand, sweeping her arms above her head. He clasped both her wrists between a single forefinger and thumb, wrapping the rest of his fingers around her forearm, and then he lifted her from the floor, pushing her back against the wall by the door to the balcony, and he held her there.

It had happened so _fast_ , yet so smoothly and easily she hadn't even begun to react. This, as much as anything, made her gasp in astonishment. She had been watching him so closely. Every day, she watched him and read upon his body what he was about to do. But this… there had been no warning, no tensing of his shoulders or change in the angle of his horns as he prepared to move.

Melora looked up into his face with wide eyes, that face so _close_ , looming over her. He held her in his grasp almost casually, her feet dangling above the floor, the edge of the door frame hard against her back.

"I am offering," he murmured, his eye gleaming fiendishly, "The best night of your life."

If she hadn't been so sure that would truly be the case, she would have rolled her eyes. "You… _you_ want _me_?" She could not hide her disbelief.

He chuckled low and gave a nod. "Yes. I do. The question is… is this what _you_ want?"

She didn't understand why this was happening _now._ This day had been so strange, and her head was spinning with everything that had happened.

But why shouldn't she have this? Maybe he had been right, that night not so long ago in the tavern. Maybe she did just need to get laid. Of course she wanted him. Maker, she had wanted him for so long. But this was _Bull_ , her bodyguard and her closest friend. How could she do this and ever go back to the way things were before?

It didn't matter. This day, this _life_ she led now, it was all so strange. Why shouldn't she have one good night? Why shouldn't she have the man she wanted? She would probably be dead soon anyway. Worrying about the future was pointless. What she had was now, tonight. She could have him, and tomorrow was irrelevant.

Melora lifted her chin, and she rolled her shoulders back and stretched her neck to bring her face closer to his. Her cheek brushed against the rasp of his beard, and she leaned into the sensation, an electric tingle upon her skin. She could feel his breath warm on the side of her neck as she whispered into his ear, "I want this." The words trembled, but the feeling behind them was sure and true. "I want you. I _need_ you."

Bull wrapped his free hand around her body, sliding his palm up the small of her back, gripping her tightly, and he pulled her close to him, pressing her against him. Before he had a chance to do anything else, she kissed him hard, unable to wait even a moment more, hungry for him, a sudden ferocity in her that she had not known was there.

He drew back and looked into her eyes, and he released her wrists from his grasp, holding her easily with one arm, tight against his huge, solid chest. She could feel the slow rhythm of his breathing against her, and she wondered if he could feel through his skin just how hard her heart was beating. She trembled all over, a faint shine of sweat upon her brow, and she felt as though she had a fever. Perhaps she did, and this was a hallucination, a fever dream, a pleasant gift from her deepest subconscious. If so, she was not going to waste it.

Melora slid one of her hands up the hard planes of his shoulder to the back of his neck and pulled him to her. She closed her eyes, and Bull brushed his lips over hers, the slightest of touches. He was so gentle, so surprisingly tender, as if were afraid he would break her. Melora pressed closer to him, tasting ale and smoke, closer still, so eager for him, and she caught his bottom lip between her teeth. Bull gave an approving rumble, tightening his grip on her, fingers digging into the flesh of her back almost painfully. She gasped against his mouth, a hot ache welling up inside of her.

Bull carried her with him over to the bed, and she was pressed so tightly to him that she could feel every movement of his immense body against hers. He stopped at the foot of the bed and slid one hand down her thigh, the other up her back. Then he bent forward and looked into her face with a grin, his eye glittering with mischief. His arms tensed, pulling her back, and then he tossed her gently onto the bed.

Melora made a graceless noise of surprise, bounced once, and lay still, her arms and legs outstretched. Shocked, she stared at the ceiling through a piece of hair fallen across her eyes. Unbidden, she burst out laughing, a barking cackle that made her immediately slap a hand over her mouth in horror. But in trying to stop herself, she only succeeded in making it worse, muffled against her palm. She pinched her nose against her hand, turning her noises into breathy, ridiculous squeaks.

She felt the bed sag, the ropes supporting the mattress creaking a groan as he crawled onto the bed with her and over her. He could not help but loom over her, casting her into his shadow. He plucked her hand from her mouth, pulling her arm up over her head, and he pressed it into the bed, holding her down. Then he reached up with his other hand to delicately brush her hair back from her face. He raised his eyebrow, giving her a deliberately amused look.

Bull dipped his head to her. "Something funny?" he rumbled against her ear, and he nipped softly at her earlobe.

Melora made a small noise at the feel of his teeth and said, "I'm sorry. I don't know where that came from." Her breath still hitched with suppressed laughter, and she had to bite her lip to keep from giggling again.

She felt the tip of his tongue, held sharp against her throat like a threat, and then he took her other arm and held it down too. He pressed himself down on the lower half of her body so she was completely pinned beneath him.

Suddenly, every urge to laugh was entirely gone. He spoke soft against the side of her neck, punctuating his words with kisses pressed to her skin. "You face death every day. You give orders and lead, and you play at politics. And even when you're not doing those things, you're thinking about them. You've got thousands of lives riding on your decisions. You bear that weight _all_ day."

Melora smirked a little, tilting her head to the side as her breath quickened through parted lips. "The only weight I feel right now is yours."

Bull chuckled. "Exactly." He murmured low to her, almost soothing words languid and smooth, and as he spoke, he held both her arms with one hand, leaving the other free to drag slowly down the side of her body, thick fingertips grazing over ribs, waist, and hip. "You need someone else to be in charge for a while. You need to give up all control, to take off all the masks and hats you're asked to wear and just be _bare_."

The rasp in his voice - oh Maker, that deep, ragged voice… Desire twisted in her like a knife, sharp and sweet.

" _That_ is what I am offering you. That is what I can give you," he whispered, his breath fanning warm across her ear and neck. His great bulk pressing down on her made her legs ache so deliciously, her feet tingling.

Melora nodded desperately, his beard grazing rough against her skin. " _Please_ ," she pleaded, almost inaudible but for their closeness.

Bull raised up just enough to look into her eyes. "What do you want?" he asked softly.

She shook her head in helpless disbelief. How could he not know already? "You," she said. "I want _you_. I have wanted you so long."

"You submit yourself to me?" He tilted his head slightly, a twist at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh yes." She could think of nothing she wanted more than to be at his mercy.

He sat up a little more, sliding a fingertip down the side of her neck to the dip between her collarbones, and his expression grew more serious, dragging that fingertip back up to beneath her chin. "First, ground rules, just so everything is clear."

Melora nodded. Rules were good, and she was still so dazzled that this was actually happening. "If you need to slow down, you tell me," he said. "If you're ever uncomfortable or you want to stop, you say 'katoh' and I'll stop, no questions asked."

"You'll just… stop? Just like that?"

"If you didn't trust me, you would have asked me to leave, but you didn't. I know that you trust me. The bridge, the dragon... You've put your life in my hands. And I will never betray that trust. I will never hurt you without your permission."

Melora made a tiny noise, almost a whimper. The way he'd phrased that… she had to ask, "But with my permission?"

Bull smiled, canine teeth catching on his bottom lip, and he stroked back down her neck, his fingers closing on her throat to hold her there, but without squeezing. "With your permission, I can show you the most _exquisite_ pain, and make you beg for more."

Despite his grip, she nodded a little, eyes wide.

"Out there," he said, continuing, flicking his gaze up toward the window, "You're the Inquisitor. You're the boss. But in here… unless you say 'katoh', you are mine to use as I wish."

His hand tightened over her throat, and he leaned down to her, looking into her eyes, steady and unblinking. " _You are mine to command_."

Maker's breath, that voice. She trembled beneath him, fear and lust twining together inside her, winding around the core of her.

"I can do as I want with you," he said, smirking ever so slightly, and he reached out with his other hand to brush his fingertips down over her cheek. "But you have to ask first, if there is anything you want to do. Kissing's fine. So's biting, if we're already in the middle of something. But anything else, you ask. _I_ am the one in control here."

Melora looked up at him, wondering exactly what he had planned for her. She'd never done anything like this before. All of her previous experiences were hurried, fumbling encounters, sometimes satisfying though often not, but nothing at all unusual, mouths and parts pressed together in some combination until something interesting happened. But what he was proposing sounded like something entirely different.

"If you disobey," Bull said, "You will be punished. Though you may enjoy that, too."

 _Punished?_ Maker, what did _that_ mean? Melora pressed her lips together tight, pushing back a giggle, and she said softly, "Punished, or _pun_ ished? Because I could really see you subjecting me to a series of awful puns."

Bull couldn't help but crack a grin, shaking his head. "Not what I meant, but also not a bad idea. Now… I want you to think before you answer, but are there any things that you absolutely do not want to do, or for me to do to you?"

Melora frowned, thinking. She'd tried a little of everything already… or so she had thought, before tonight. "I… I don't really know. I've never… this is so far beyond my realm of experience, I don't even know what I might object to."

"Hmm, fair enough. Well, I think I have a pretty good idea of what you'll enjoy. Won't get into anything too unusual without asking first. And if there's anything that you don't want, all you have to do is say so."

She nodded her understanding, but Bull shook his head. "No," he said, his tone suddenly much more serious, "This is not something you can agree to so easily. I need you to understand… to really understand. I'm going to be in control here, but I don't want to do anything you don't like. I'm going to check in with you, make sure everything's alright, but you need to know you can speak up and say no, slow down, stop, not so hard, not so deep, don't like that… Pushing you right up to the edge of your limits will be great, but beyond is… not an option."

Melora looked up at him with an impish smirk. "Are we going to do this, or are you just going to talk at me all night?"

Bull's fingers tightened on either side of her jaw, holding her face tight in his strong grasp, and there was not a hint of amusement in his stony expression. "This is _important,_ " he growled. "You're…"

He stopped, and shook his head, making a frustrated noise, and he started to pull away, but Melora reached up, wrapping her hand around his wrist, holding him there, though she knew he could easily pull away from her grip. "I'm what?" she asked, her voice small and soft.

Bull let out a slow breath and closed his eye, and when he looked back down at her, his expression softened. "I know you're damn strong.  A lot stronger than you look. I've seen you take on a _dragon_. But you're still…" He seemed to be struggling for words, something he didn't do often, and he growled before he bowed his head low. He hesitated a moment and he kissed her gently, eye squeezing tightly shut as he savored the moment. Melora lifted her hand to his cheek, stroking over his skin, feeling the warmth and texture of him.

"I will _not_ betray your trust," he murmured, drawing back only slightly, his breath hot against her mouth. "Not even accidentally. But you are so _small_ , and if I hurt you without meaning to, I need to know that you'll say something. That you'll stop me."

Melora nodded again, her lips brushing against his with the motion, and she slid her hand from his cheek to the back of his neck, pulling him down for another kiss. "I understand," she said. "If it's too much, I'll say so. But really, when have you known me not to complain if something isn't to my liking?"

Bull couldn't help but laugh. "How about today, when they handed you a big shiny sword?"

Melora gave a wry smirk and smacked his shoulder lightly. "That was… that was for _them_. For responsibility and duty. This… what you're asking me to do, that's for _you_. And I'd do anything for you. You should know that by now."

"Anything?" He raised a mischievous eyebrow.

"I drank that awful stuff after we killed the dragon, didn't I?"

He pouted, almost looking hurt, though he was still smirking. "You mean you just drank with me because you wanted to get in my pants?"

"Not _just_ for that reason, but… yes." Melora was grinning then.

"Wait… what about the dragon?" He blinked down at her.

"We _did_ have to get it out of the Hinterlands. But making you happy was certainly… a consideration."

Bull gave her a broad smile and shook his head a little. "Damn, boss. When you flirt, you really don't do it halfway, do you?"

"And when you showed up promising the best night of my life, I'm not sure pinning me to the bed and talking my ear off is quite what I had in mind."

He traced a fingertip down from her forehead to her cheek and her chin and then tapped her on the nose playfully. "You in a rush? We've got all night."

Melora pressed her lips together and smiled a little. "Not sure I know how to do this without hurrying."

"Well, then," Bull said, his voice getting low and slow, "You just need to relax and let me take over. No more worrying and wondering, no more questions. Turn your mind off for a little while."

"I'm… I'm not sure I know how to do that, either."

Bull chuckled. "You're worrying again."

"How do I stop?" she asked him.

With a guttural snarl, Bull pinned her wrists to the bed, and dipped his head to bite down on the curve between her neck and shoulder. Melora gasped, pain blooming crimson and shining within her, legs writhing as she struggled against him. She wanted to wrap her legs around his hips, to clutch at his shoulders, but he still had her pinned. And despite her own considerable strength, she was no match for him, utterly immobile. To her confused delight, she found this intensely pleasurable, his great weight bearing down upon her and holding her fast.

Bull gave a low, self-satisfied _heh_ against her skin, sucking at the spot on her neck, dragging his teeth across it to leave a deliberate mark. Melora clenched and unclenched her hands, whimpering, pulling against his immovable grip on her wrists. He lifted his lips from her neck, kissing at the red welt on her skin, and then he drew back to sit halfway up and look into her face. "Be still," he demanded, a forceful edge to his voice. He pressed her wrists a little harder into the bed before releasing his grasp on her.

She obeyed, laying motionless beneath him, looking up at him with parted lips and curious eyes. He was _magnificent_ , his immense body all hard planes of muscles, silver skin shining with slashed scars. Her mind reeled, unable to comprehend that this was truly happening, that she really was pinned beneath him.

He gave her a fiendish look and then reached out to hook one huge finger under the top edge of her tunic. "This here anything special?" he asked, rubbing the thick beige fabric between his forefinger and thumb.

Melora shook her head, and before she could question why he'd asked, Bull grinned and said, "Good!" He took hold of the top edge of her tunic with his other hand, tearing the fabric with a quick twist and pull.

Melora's eyes went wide, a startled cry escaping her lips. There came a sharp _ting! ting!_ of some of the copper fasteners popping off, skittering as they hit the floor. "Oh! That was my only nice tunic. Shit, I hated that thing! So ugly and itchy!"

"Why do you think I ruined it?" Bull grinned down at her and slid one hand beneath the middle of her back, lifting her enough to pull the ruined tunic up behind her, and then off her arms. He threw it aside onto the floor with a dramatic flourish and looked down at her, an appreciative gleam in his eye. "You'll just have to have a new one made now. How about green silk? Or pink?"

She wore nothing beneath the tunic, her small, wide-set breasts bare, nipples drawing tight in the sudden cool air across her skin. Bull grinned, brushing his fingertips over her right breast, and then he crawled back and lowered his head to fan a breath across her nipple. He bent his head lower and took her nipple in his mouth. Melora whimpered, and when he rolled his tongue around her nipple, she gasped, arching her back. She lifted a hand and brought it up to grip his shoulder. In response, he pressed his teeth into the sensitive nub of flesh, just hard enough to hurt. "You will lay still," he growled against her skin, and she dropped her hand back to the bed, eyes wide.

He cupped her other breast beneath his huge hand, kneading gently, brushing his thumb over her nipple, lips still softly kissing at the other side. Melora's breath quickened, and it became a struggle not to move, the tension growing in her until soon, her arms and legs began to tremble with it, and with the cold across her skin, and the wet spots his mouth left upon her. Except for that tiny warning bite, he was gentle, touches light, sometimes barely brushing her skin. Melora whimpered, shaking with the effort to keep from pressing her body closer to him, wanting to slide her hands over his horns.

Nobody had ever touched her like this. This gentleness, the slow, savoring exploration of her skin… It was so new and strange, so unhurried and relaxed. She had always known sex as something full of impatient tension, especially with men. Get on with it as quickly as possible, get off and get your clothes back in place before a Templar might wander by to see. But Bull didn't even have his pants off yet. Neither did she. Was this how people had sex outside the Circle? All this touching and kissing...

Bull moved to the other side of her chest, a kiss placed in the dip between her breasts on the way there. One of his hands strayed down, fingertips walking down her belly. He circled her navel with a faint touch, and Melora squeaked, tensing and curling her belly away from his touch, her mouth split into a helpless smile. Bull released her nipple from his lips and looked up at her over the line of her body, quirking an eyebrow in curious amusement. He touched her belly again, just as lightly, and Melora bit at her bottom lip before she burst out giggling, trembling all over as she tried not to squirm away from him on the bed. He _had_ told her to be still, after all.

Bull laughed, a warm, rolling sound from deep in his chest. "You're _ticklish?_ "

To her horror, Melora felt a hot blush spreading across her cheeks and down to her neck and chest. She tried to splutter a protest, but Bull laughed again, softer, and he shook his head a little. "No, it's good," he said, and he kissed her again, at the crease just below her breast. "It's fun. Cute. And I can use it."

Melora looked down at him, still pink across her cheeks. "How?"

Bull smirked as he sat back, and he moved his leg to kneel beside her on the bed. He leaned over her, slipping his fingers under the waistband of her trousers, and he flicked the buttons at the waist open with his thumb. He pulled, dragging her trousers and smallclothes down her thighs and then off, tossing them onto the floor near her ruined tunic. Her socks, he plucked off delicately, pulling them from the toes and folding them together, and these he tucked down the side of the bed, between the mattress and the frame.

A faint frown crossed Melora's face, and she turned her head and closed her eyes to hide it from him. All of her other things, he had thrown aside in a heap, one piece a frayed and torn mess. All of those things - the tunic given to her as a gift to the Herald by a visiting noble, the hastily altered smallclothes and trousers... Now they lay discarded. But she had made her socks herself. He had watched her make them, even leaned close at the camp one night on the way to the Hinterlands before they killed the dragon, watching as she stitched the cable pattern twining up the side, asking how it was done and peering closely as she worked the stitches slowly, demonstrating how she made them cross over one another. Those socks were the one thing she wore that was truly hers. And he had shown them special care. 

Her eyes flickered back open when she realized she had not heard or felt him move. Instead, he was just looking down at her, his hands folded across the top of his leg. It was a deliberate pause, letting her look back and wonder what he would do next.

She found it oddly exhilarating, being completely naked while he was still fully clothed… or at least, as fully clothed as he ever seemed to get. There was a vulnerability to it, a defenselessness that she found strangely arousing. But she was also a little self-conscious. She was slim and lithe, but so very ordinary. How could she possibly be enough for such a breathtaking man? Especially knowing he'd fucked his way across half of Thedas before coming to her bed. Surely he'd been with others more skillful, more attractive, more experienced, and just… more than she was. How could she ever compare to them? To _him_?

Yet the way he looked at her, the gleam in his eye as he took in the whole of her, sitting relaxed beside her… She could detect no hint of disappointment on his face. In fact, he seemed almost as in awe of her as she was of him, his lips parted as his gaze traced over her. She'd seen this look from him before, and it took her a moment to place it. Just after they'd killed the dragon, when they'd stopped hugging and laughing, he had knelt beside the beast and ran his palm over its still-steaming scales. The look on his face then was the same as he had now.

The connection made her shiver, despite the warm ache of her desire for him. Maker's mercy, everything about him was so damned unexpected. She felt something else twist in her, too, something other than heat, deep in her chest and stretching into her belly, and that little crease between her eyebrows returned. She forced it away, instead putting on a sly little smile, gazing up at him with her palms against the blanket covering the bed. "What? Have you never seen a naked woman before?"

Bull chuckled and ran his tongue over his bottom lip. "I thought I had."

It was a _line_ , but a damned good one, delivered with such absolute smugness that Melora flushed crimson, snorting a laugh and shaking her head.

She opened her mouth to throw back a smart remark, to distract herself from the blushing, but before she could speak, Bull leaned over and said, "As to your other question…"

He slid one hand between her knees and up to her thighs, parting her legs and pushing them apart. Melora sucked in a breath, sudden cool air against the wet heat of her cunt. Her legs quivered, toes pointed against the bed.

Bull paused again, corner of his mouth drawn up in a knowing smirk, and ever so slowly, he stroked a single finger up from her knee to her inner thigh, the barest touch on her skin, teasing his touch over the crease at the top of her leg. He was so maddeningly gentle, so slow that Melora gave a soft noise of frustration. How many times had she imagined how he would touch her? But she had never quite thought it would be like this, taking such time and care about it.

Bull stopped once more and then faintly stroked at the dark, curled hair between her legs. It tickled, and she bit at her bottom lip to keep from laughing. Bull smirked, turning his gaze to her face, and he looked into her eyes as he spread her wider with his fingertips, slick in the wetness there. Melora took in a quick, gasping breath, and before she could relax again, he slid his middle finger between her soft folds and pushed it deep into her.

Melora arched her back, lifting her hips off the bed to press herself against his hand. With his other hand, Bull pushed her back down and held her there, palm flat against her belly. He withdrew his finger from her a little and then in again with smooth, short strokes. Then he leaned close to her and spoke soft and slow, perfectly calm, his voice edged with a faint growl that sent tingling waves over her skin, heartbeat pulsing in her cunt. "When you laugh, it makes everything tighten. _Everything._ So when I've got you close, when you think you can't possibly take any more…" He slid a second finger in alongside the first, and Melora gasped, clutching handfuls of the blankets beneath her. His fingers were so thick, and he twisted them within her as he moved, "Then I can just…"

He lifted his palm from her belly and brushed his fingertips up toward her ribs. Melora tried to resist, but she whimpered helplessly and then broke into a fit of giggles. She felt the muscles deep within her squeeze tight around his fingers inside her. She hissed a breath through her teeth and swore.

Bull grinned at her reaction and kept stroking his fingers inside her, ever so slow. He leaned closer, lips almost brushing her ear, and murmured softly, " _You're so wet for me,_ " before he kissed her again. His tongue slipped past her lips, sliding along hers, and there was a hunger and forcefulness in his kiss now, no longer so gentle. He brushed the pad of his thumb up along her clit, and she gasped against his mouth, returning his kiss harder, sucking on the thick, rough length of his tongue. Bull made a low noise of surprise, a ragged sound of breath and ache, and he broke away from the kiss.

He looked down into her eyes, his gaze clouded with dark desire, and did not look away as he slowly withdrew his fingers from her, eliciting a disappointed whimper. Nor did he look away as he lifted his hand and put his fingers, shining with her wetness upon him, to his lips. And Melora could not take her eyes from him as he licked his fingers clean, tasting her upon them. He made a low, rumbling _mmmm_ sound and then flicked his tongue over his lips, one tooth catching his bottom lip as he gave her a fiendish look.

This time, he did not leave her to wonder at his next move. He slipped off the side of the bed, gripping her thighs with his hands and pulling her along with him, so that she lay close to the edge. He allowed her a moment to adjust her shoulders before he lifted both her legs to drape them over his horns. And then, he lowered his head, sliding his hands along her inner thighs, kneeling like a supplicant at an altar.

Melora shivered all over, so overwhelmed with need that she could barely breathe. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, shutting out the flickering flames reflected on the high ceiling. The soles of her feet rested on the hard planes of his back, backs of her knees against the smooth coolness of his horns. He kissed her inner thigh, beard rasping harsh against sensitive skin in delicious contrast to the warm press of his lips. She could feel the heat of his breath upon her, and then, his fingers parted her folds, his breath suddenly cool on the increasing wetness there.

Bull teased her, placing kisses up and down her inner thighs, fingers stroking gently but avoiding her more sensitive places. Melora whimpered feverishly, wound so tightly with want that she felt as though she would break. It seemed an agonizing eternity that he toyed with her, her existence distilling to the sensations sparking across her sweat-damp skin. There was nothing but his damned teasing mouth, his lips so achingly soft and tender that she had to choke back a tormented moan.

Before the sound had finished escaping her throat, Bull ran the flat of his tongue up the center of her, teasing no longer but firm, flicking against the tip of her clit. Melora cried out, bucking her hips against him, and this time, he did not push her back down, but instead cupped the flesh of her ass in his hands, pulling her closer, crushing her hot cunt to his eager mouth. He lapped at her, his tongue wide and rough, slick with her juices. Deep, delicious ache bloomed bright within her, her breath coming so fast she was getting lightheaded, hands tingling. She clutched white-knuckled at the blankets, desperate for an anchor to keep herself from flying apart. She sucked in a shaking breath, toes gripping at the edge of the leather harness where it crossed his shoulder.

Bull growled against her, the sound more felt than heard, rippling through her, a menacing sound that twisted around the fear it sparked in the most primitive parts of her mind, turning them to a white-hot lance of _wanting_. He kissed her cunt, the sound wet and obscene, and she felt his lips draw into a smile against her. That alone nearly unraveled her… that damnable, dazzling smile of his _there_. Melora cried out, twisting handfuls of the blankets in her fists. And then he pressed his mouth closer, thrusting his tongue deep inside her. At the same time, he stroked at her clit with the soft edge of his upper lip.

Melora moaned, a low, primal sound in a voice she could scarcely recognize as her own. Tension pulled within her, tight and agonizing. Her breath came in ragged gasps as his tongue stroked her inner depths, and she lifted her hands from the bed to clutch at his horns, crushing herself against his mouth. He growled again, deep and rough with pleasure at her reaction. His mouth worked against her faster, harder.

All that she was, her entire being, focused to a single point, awash in aching bliss, the pressure building until it burst and flooded over her. Dazzling light and sensation coursed through her, and she threw her head back and cried out. But still Bull held her fast, even as she twisted and writhed against the grip of his huge, strong hands wrapped around her hips. He did not relent, even as she came again, and then again, each peak blending into the next until she could take no more, and she lifted her leg to place her foot against his horn, pushing him away, overwhelmed by sensation.

Only then did he pull back from her, pressing a last damp kiss against her thigh, and then he eased her back down to the bed, lifting her legs off his horns.

Melora was shaking, shivering, the sheen of sweat all over her skin cooling. She unclenched her hands, cramped from clutching at the blankets and his horns, and then opened her eyes.

Bull knelt beside the bed, one side of his face glowing golden in the firelight, the other cast in shadow. He was watching her, and she could not read the look on his face. Lit like this, rough planes of his features described by flame, she could easily imagine he was a desire demon, come to tempt her into madness. If he were, she would go gladly.

As she watched him, his hands moved to the strap of the harness he wore over one immense shoulder, unbuckling it and tossing it aside on the floor atop her clothes.

Melora's eyes flashed with delight, seeing him uncovered like this. Maker's breath, he was magnificent, every inch of him powerfully muscled, slashed with shining scars across his silver-grey skin that seemed more like stone or metal than flesh. She gazed at him reverently, curling onto her side, still trembling. She could have lay there forever, just watching him, but she didn't have forever. Just tonight. So she pushed herself up and sat on the side of the bed. She remembered the rules he'd set forth, and she said softly, "Please, may I touch you? You are _so_ beautiful."

The corner of Bull's mouth pulled up into a confused smile, but he nodded, and he moved to sit at the end of the bed. Melora shifted on the bed, intensely aware of the way her thighs slid wet against each other as she knelt before him, and Bull stretched his legs out beside her.

She reached out to him, fingers trembling as they touched his skin, tracing the lines of his body, her eyes studying the patterns of his numerous scars. He had known such pain in his life, and his body bore witness to it. Ruined eye, missing fingers, and spiderwebs of scars on every part of him. How much pain did these old wounds still cause him? How had he endured so much?

Melora moved a little closer, laying a hand on his thigh, and she glanced down at his lap and then back up, giving him a little smile. "May I? she asked, and when he gave her a little nod, she moved to straddle him, throwing her leg over his, a little surprised at just how wide she had to spread her legs to do so. His trousers were rough across her inner thighs.

She wriggled closer to him, leaning in enough to brush her breasts across his skin, the drag of her nipples across his chest electric. Melora's eyes went wide, too, at the feeling of his hardness pressing hot against her belly, tenting the front of his trousers. Bull leaned back against the ornate wooden footboard of her bed and then wiped at his mouth with his palm, swiping away the wetness glazed over his beard.

That faint, smug smirk had returned, and Melora stretched up the length of his vast body to kiss the smirk away, soft and slow at first but then harder, nipping at his bottom lip. Andraste's flame, he tasted of her now, too, sharp and faintly salty, the musky scent of her lingering on his face. She felt a new rush of heat throbbing deep within her, and she tilted her hips, grinding against him through his trousers, a growing damp spot sinking in through the fabric.

Bull groaned against her mouth and then slid a hand up her back, taking hold of the base of her braided hair. He pushed her back from him gently and pulled the ribbon from the end of her braid, sliding his fingers through her hair till it fell loose and wavy down her back. She quirked a curious eyebrow at him, but he simply sat back, looking at her appreciatively, dragging a lock of her hair between his fingers.

"You… you like my hair?" she asked.

"Yeah, I do," he replied with a grin. "You always have it braided. Keeps it out of the way, I suppose, but _damn_ , you look good with it loose."

He slid a hand up her back to tangle his fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck. He pulled her closer, wrapping his other arm around her waist and he kissed her hard, tongue pushing into her mouth, rough against hers, tasting strongly of her cunt. Melora whimpered, sinking against him, overwhelmed by the hunger of his kiss, and the feeling of his huge, powerful body pressed close to hers, skin to skin. He did not relent, drawing a breath through his nose, savoring her mouth. His hands slid over her with increasing urgency, as if he could not get enough of her, could not feel enough of her. His fingers grasped at her, kneading her flesh, clutching her tight, nails digging into her skin.

More, his mouth demanded without speaking a word. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, sliding her fingers up the back of his neck, just as greedy for more of him, too. And she could feel through his trousers, there was quite a lot more of him to be had. The thought made her shiver with desire, and a little, too, with apprehension. She had imagined he would be… proportional, but to have the reality of him pressed against her… Everything about him was on such a massive scale, and she was so damn small, not just in comparison to him but in general, so she could not help but feel intimidated.

Bull seemed to sense her worry, her response to his kiss weakening, and he broke off to bring his hands up and cup her face in his palms. He looked into her eyes, and Melora shrank, ashamed of getting this far and letting herself succumb to worry, but he held her fast and locked his gaze with hers. "Hey," he said softly. "What's wrong?"

Melora gave a tiny shake of her head, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. She wanted to tell him it was nothing, to just keep going, but she remembered his insistence that she speak up. It was so at odds with her previous experiences, when they would have preferred she just shut up and let them get on with it so they could get off. But he had been so serious about it, she could not lie and say it was nothing. He would know if she did anyway.

She drew a deep breath and said, "You're just… really, really, um… big."

Bull chuckled softly and smiled at her. "You've known me for months. You're just noticing this?"

She smiled back, a little sheepishly, but then she said, "I mean, um, more specifically…" She rocked her hips against him, pressing closer to the hardness straining against his trousers.

He drew one hand back through her hair, stroking her soothingly, and he shook his head. "You know, there's a lot of things we can do, and many of them, size doesn't matter much."

Melora's brows came together and she chewed at her lip. "But I thought… I mean, we're… don't you want to…?"

"To fuck you?" The scarred corner of his mouth twisted up a little more, and he shrugged, leaning back against the bed. "Yeah, of course I want to. But like I said, there's plenty of other stuff than that which is plenty fun, and me having a big cock and you being, uh, as small as you are mostly irrelevant for loads of other stuff. Sex isn't just about getting a cock in you."

"Oh." Her lips pulled to one side and she looked away.

Bull smirked and guided her face back to his, looking into her eyes. "But," he said softly, "I think you want that, too. You're just afraid."

Melora nodded, and she flicked her tongue over her lips. "Yes," she said, barely audible, but then louder. "But I… I don't even know if that would, um… work."

Bull laughed a little. "Well, you know, I do have a _bit_ of experience with having sex with people smaller than me. When you're my size, that's pretty much everyone who doesn't also have horns and… really, most of them, too. So I can say pretty certainly that, yes, it would probably work. Just have to go slow. Spend a while getting you ready for it first, and get you so worked up you're begging for it. And then, uh, ease into it. Heh. Literally."

Melora thought for a moment. She desperately wanted him. All of him. This might be her only chance to have him in her bed, and she would not waste it being afraid. If he said it could work, then she wanted to try. She nodded again.

"Now," he said, reaching up and rubbing at her forehead with the pads of his thumbs in little circles, massaging away her frown. "You are to stop worrying immediately. That's an order."

Melora leaned in to kiss him softly. "Yes, ser," she said.

Bull grinned. "Good. Now, let's start with the rest of my clothes," and he lifted her off his lap and onto the bed beside him.

"Oh," she said, biting at her bottom lip around a smile. "Yes, please. I can't tell you how long I've wanted to see you naked."

"I'd say the same of you, but, uh, I kind of already had," Bull said, standing beside the bed, and he unbuckled his wide belt and tossed it aside on the floor. She'd barely had the place an hour and it was already a mess. Not that she minded much.

Melora raised an eyebrow confusedly, and then giggled. "Oh. Right. At that pond. Bastard."

"Hey, that really was an accident. If I'd have wanted to peep at you naked, you'd never have even known I was there."

Melora gave him a quizzical look. "Is that supposed to reassure me?"

"Just a fact, boss. Off the bed. Kneel on the floor."

He took a step back to give her room, and she moved from the bed to her knees before him. Fuck, he was so tall. He lifted his right foot from the floor and held it out to her. She looked up curiously at him, but then he gave her a crooked grin and explained, "You're naked, and I've still got my boots on."

Melora pulled his boot from his heel, sliding it from his huge foot with a firm tug. He placed his foot back on the ground and presented his left foot to her.  "Just reach around the sides and--"

She had seen him remove the metal brace from his boot many times when they had made camp out on the road, and before he could finish telling her how to do so, her fingers went to the latches that held it in place, flicking them open and lifting the brace from his boot.

"Oh," he said, blinking a little in surprise.

Melora tucked the brace under the bed, where it would not be lost, and then pulled off his other boot. Then her hands went to his sock… the ones she'd made for him, growing threadbare around the toes from wear. She could not help but smile, and as he lifted each foot, she peeled his socks off and tucked them alongside the bed frame next to her own.

She stretched up on her knees, hands going to the laces of his trousers, pulling at the knotted cord there. But the knot was strange, unfamiliar, and she only succeeded in tightening it further. Bull covered her hands with one of his and said, "I'll get that. And remember, you ask if you want to do something."

Melora nodded her understanding. "Sorry," she said, smiling and looking up at him through her eyelashes. "Can't blame me for being a little overeager, can you?"

Bull undid the knot at his waist and pushed his trousers down off his hips. They fell loose to the floor and he kicked them aside. He wore nothing else underneath. He smiled down at her, letting her look up at him from the floor, his immense form partially eclipsed from her view by his huge erection.

Melora sucked in a breath, her eyes wide. He was a desire demon. It was the only explanation for such a glorious man's existence. Oh Maker, she wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything. Every bit of him was so _powerful_ , so beautifully honed, gleaming grey and slashed with silver scars. She felt a rush of heat, cunt throbbing in time to her heartbeat, at contrast with the unyielding cold of the floor beneath her legs. She reached out her hands to him, pausing before she touched him, the question in her eyes more than on her lips, and Bull gave a nod.

She skimmed her palms over his thighs, marveling at how _solid_ he felt, and she dragged her touch down to his calves as she leaned in to kiss lightly at a gnarled scar just above his left knee. He was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen, and she was so awestruck that she had to remember to breathe.

"You are… unbelievably magnificent," she said.

"Don't you mean un _bull_ ievably magnificent?" he replied, placing his hands on his hips and striking a dashing pose.

Melora couldn't resist laughing, smiling up at him fondly. As gorgeous as he was, he was also still Bull, just as silly as he was huge. And it was hard to be overly intimidated by someone who loved puns as much as he did.

Bull extended a hand to her, helping her to her feet, and pulled her with him to the bed. He lowered himself to sit on the edge, and even seated, he was still taller than her, though not by nearly so much. It was unusual and pleasant, being able to look at him eye to eye. He slid his other hand behind her back, pulling her in close to him.

He kissed her again, and it felt like a question waiting for a response. Melora flicked her tongue across his lips, nipping lightly at him, making him growl for her. She shivered at the promise that growl seemed to hold. Bull broke away from the kiss to murmur, hot breath against her ear, " _Touch me._ "

Melora made a soft noise, her knees shaking, and she slipped both hands around his cock, running her palms up and down the hard length of him. Sweet Maker, he was even bigger than she'd thought, so very thick and heavy. Her touch was light, exploring at first, but then she gripped him more firmly, drawing a groan and a jerk of his hips. Her forefinger lingered at the very tip of his cock, at the pearl-like droplet there. There was a searing heat to him, even warmer than his skin, hot against her hands.

Bull brought the hand on her back down to the curve of her ass, squeezing her tightly, fingertips digging in, and he slid the other up her thigh, pushing her stance wider. His touch on her was rougher now, more urgent, and she whimpered a little with desire. He drew a finger up between the wet folds of her cunt, and she moaned softly, leaning against his shoulder for fear her legs would buckle beneath her. He held her up with his other arm, pulling her closer, and he pushed that single finger into her. Melora's hands tightened around his cock as she gasped, her mouth on his skin.

His thumb joined his finger to work at her too, stroking at her clit, drawing out her aching desire. She felt so weak now, utterly helpless in his arms, her head spinning. His finger glided in and out of her, stoking the flames that seemed ready to consume her whole. He added a second finger, and she trembled, kissing at his shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut. There was little gentle in his touch now, the sensation overwhelming, and it was all she could do to keep herself upright and to keep her hands moving over him.

"Deep breaths," he said, turning his head to speak softly to her. "Focus your mind on your breathing. Nice and slow, in and out."

She realized then he had synchronized the motion of his fingers with the rhythm of her breath, and as she did as he told her, his movements slowed, but he thrust his fingers deeper into her with each stroke. She pressed her cheek to his shoulder, grateful for his arm around her, holding her up… and even more grateful when, after her breathing had steadied, he pressed a third finger into her.

Melora cried out against his shoulder, going up on her tiptoes and tensing all over. His fingers were so damned thick, and three… Even two was far more than she'd ever had inside her. Bull stopped for a moment, holding her close, and he murmured low to her, "Shhh, relax, just breathe. Just like before, slow and easy."

She tried to do as he told her, but still she whimpered, her hands on him stilled.

"Too much?" he asked.

Melora shook her head and managed to say, "No. I just… give me a moment."

She felt him nod against her ear and he remained motionless, letting her adjust to the new sensation. She breathed slow, keeping her mind on the rush of air through her lungs, and after a few breaths, the pain and pressure began to turn to a pleasant fullness. Melora lowered her heels back to the floor, and in doing so, lowered her hips, too, his fingers filling her deeply.

Melora exhaled with a moan, finding the rhythm of her breath and keeping it, and she tightened her grip on his cock, stroking over him once more. He moved his fingers within her, ever so slightly at first and then further, in and out, twisting his wrist as he did.

" _Aah… oh, Maker,_ " she gasped, eyes fluttering open.

"No," he growled into her ear. "Your Maker has abandoned you. The only god you have in this room is _me._ "

With the last word, he slid his finger firmly down her clit. Melora could not help herself, and she bit down on his shoulder, her cry muffled against him.

Bull's arm tightened around her, and she felt his body shake against hers. "Ahh yes, _good_ ," he groaned. "Biting's _damn_ good. Again!"

Melora sank her teeth into the thick slope from his neck to his shoulder, tongue flicking at his skin. His cock twitched in her hands, a growl rumbling through his chest, and she felt the ache of wanting in her belly twist. He was enjoying this, too, aroused by her and what she was doing to him. She had been so intimidated by him, but now, she was so overcome by the taste of him on her lips, the smell of him brought to her by each breath, the feel of him pressed close to her and his fingers inside her, she couldn't even think anymore. She could only _feel_ and _do_. Her mouth worked at his skin, whimpering against his shoulder, delighting in every delicious noise he made as she bit him.

With a shuddering moan, she came again, biting down hard on him. He held her fast, her small body slumped against him, giving herself over to him completely. And before she could even begin to recover, he seized her tight against him, rolling her onto the bed and beneath him.

Melora made a soft noise of surprise, eyes flickering open. Bull reached down and yanked her legs up around his hips, right hand slick with wetness. He looked down into her eyes, and she was pinned beneath him in more ways than one, laid bare before him, as if he could read everything in her as easily as words on a page. Could he see there, too, how much she wanted him?

" _Please,_ " she pleaded, her hands upon his chest, fingertips grasping at his skin.

With one hand, he gripped the base of his cock, rubbing its velvety tip against her clit, making her twitch and writhe beneath him. She tried to buck her hips against him, yearning to take him within her, but he would not let her move. She seethed with want, burned with it, a desperate whimper passing her lips. She had to have him, and she didn't care that it would hurt. She wanted the hurt.

But he teased her still, slipping the tip of his cock lower. He dipped his head to bite at her neck, her shoulder, his teeth dragging sharp across her chin, her throat.

"Is this what you want?" he demanded, and he pressed his cock against her slickened entrance ever so slightly before withdrawing again. He took her arms and held them against the bed above her head, strong hands holding her wrists so tight, her fingers began to tingle.

"Yes," Melora mewled, imploring. "Please, Bull, _please,_ I need you."

"Say it," he commanded, a ragged snarl.

" _Please, fuck me!_ " she begged.

As soon as the words escaped her lips, Bull rocked his hips, pushing into her. He pressed her arms hard into the bed, and he did not look away from her for a moment. She forced herself to relax, even though she wanted so badly to tense, feeling herself opening up to receive him. She did as he had told her before, breathing slow and deep, but it was through gritted teeth. Still he did not relent, pinning her into the bed, sinking down deeper into her with aching slowness, filling her completely. The moment seemed to stretch on forever, Bull pressing his cock ever further within her until she was sure she could take no more, and the sweet agony of it made her turn her face and cry out against his arm.

Bull stopped then, his great weight pressing down on her, but he moved no more, and he placed a kiss against her jaw, his beard rough on her skin. "This alright?" he asked.

Melora swallowed hard and gave an emphatic nod.

"So I shouldn't stop?"

"Don't you _dare_." She wrapped her legs around his hips, holding him tight.

He drew back and then filled her again, rocking into her. The drag of him within her was incredible, a delicious fullness of him within her, filling her completely. His breath was hot against her skin, and she could not get enough of the _sound_ of him, hoarse with barely-restrained lust, turning to a growled threat when she writhed against his firm grip on her wrists. He pushed her down harder into the bed, stretching her arms high above her head until her shoulders burned.

He found a languid pace, pressing deep into her with each stroke until she cried out. It hurt, oh Maker, what a perfect pain it was, and she had to force herself to breathe, dragging air across parted lips. Melora dug her fingernails against her palms, unable to grasp anything else, wanting desperately to clutch at him, at the bed, at anything. Her mark flared with a crackling buzz, green light upon the tips of his horns, reflected in the shining metal of the patch over his eye. She felt as though she were coming apart, being disassembled into bone and breath, flesh and flame, burning from the inside out.

Melora tipped her head back and moaned, dissolving into a keening cry. She clenched tight around him, and she was sure she could take no more, just as Bull thrust harder into her. She could feel him shaking, his breath hissed between clenched teeth, and he buried his face against her neck. The tension within him was incredible, and even in the daze of pain and delight he inflicted upon her, she found herself utterly overcome by him, at the knowledge that he was taking his pleasure in her too, savoring the feeling of her cunt gripping him tight.

Bull breathed a tattered gasp, and he groaned and scuffed his cheek against hers. " _Do you trust me?_ " he rasped.

"Yes," she breathed. She had never trusted anyone more. She trusted him more than herself. "Oh yes."

" _Relax,_ " he murmured, and he spoke slow, lips brushing her ear. For the moment, he ceased his movement within her, resting deep inside her. She could feel his pulse in her cunt, the twitch of him as he fought to restrain himself. "Relax _everything._ Feel it, creeping up from your toes, down from your fingers, washing down your spine. Like you're made of water, just a pool of you melting into the bed. Do you feel it?"

She did as he told her, forcing her body to relax, becoming aware of each part of herself in turn, going limp beneath him. Her limbs seemed to take on a greater weight, and she exhaled a shaky breath. She gave a tiny nod, all she dared do to move.

"Stay that way," he warned her. "No matter what. You feel the urge to tense up, you force yourself to relax instead."

Her mind reeled, but she heeded his words, letting her eyes flutter closed. She had only a moment to consider what would come next before he rocked his hips back and then rolled into her again, deeper before, burying his cock fully within her. His hips pressed down against hers, and pain blossomed deep within her belly, spreading through her with burning tendrils that seized her limbs and made her want to arch and scream.

In the hearth, there was a sudden roar and crackle as the coals leapt into dancing flame.

Around the torment twisted a bizarre pleasure, a war raging as the two forces spiraled around each other through her, fervor fanned anew with each thrust of him into her. She understood now the reason for his warning, knowing that if she allowed herself to strain or tense against him, pain would be the victor in this battle.

So instead, Melora sank into the bed as if she were boneless. Unable to move, the torture was exquisite, and she forced trembling breaths through swollen lips, allowing only the softest whimper to escape her throat. Bull shifted his hips, changing the angle just slightly, and his cock dragged across her clit with every stroke.

Melora gasped, scarcely able to breathe. She couldn't take much more of this. It was so much, too much. She gave a faint, anguished cry, tipping her head back.

" _Let go,_ " he rumbled against her ear, " _Just let yourself go. You're safe. I've got you._ "

A strangled sob escaped her throat, and she pressed her face to his shoulder to stifle the sound. Hot tears squeezed from the creases at the corners of her eyes, and she pulled a gulp of air into her lungs, heaving another cry against his skin. Her tears flowed freely, coursing down the sides of her face and pooling in the curves of her ears.

Maker, it hurt so _beautifully_ , reaching a tension deep within her that she had not even known was there, pain and pleasure pulling at the frayed tangle of her nerves, unravelling her, untangling the knots in the depths of her mind and body.

Bull's rhythm faltered, and she could feel his entire immense body trembling against her, his breath coming fast.

" _Please,_ " she pleaded, her voice thick with tears. "Oh please, _please_ , I can't-- I need you, _now_."

His mouth found her neck again, his teeth sharp on her skin, hard enough to mark her, and he rutted into her then, the sound of him primal and fierce, a guttural growl as he took her hard.

Behind Melora's eyes, bright stars burst and danced, and for one dazzling moment, she was lost entirely, set adrift outside of herself, apart from the world, everywhere and nowhere at once, and she relaxed utterly, giving herself over to him completely. She could have stayed in that moment forever, but then she felt the delicious pulse of Bull's cock jerking inside her, and then the hot flood of his seed filling her. It spilled onto her inner thighs, forced out of her as he thrust into her still, breathing hard through his nose, sucking at the bitten spot on her skin. He buried his face against her neck, giving a low, satisfied groan.

He was still then but for the heave of his breath, deliciously heavy upon her. He did not withdraw from her yet, but stayed hilted within her, feeling the echoing tremors of her around him. His body felt so good pressed upon hers.

Bull released her wrists at last and pushed himself up on his forearms to look into her eyes. The look on his face made her eyes well anew, and he brushed back her hair from her forehead with his fingertips, kissing away the shining tears still on her cheeks. He made a low, soothing noise at the tremble of her lips, and leaned down to kiss them, so soft and tender that she had to turn her face away from him, squeezing her eyes shut.

He rolled from her and onto the bed beside her on his back, looking up at the ceiling. Then he turned his eye to her and said softly, "Come here."

Melora curled beside him, laying her head upon his chest. She could hear his heart beating, strong and sure, and she closed her eyes, listening to the rhythm of him. One of his hands went to her hair, stroking through the tangle of dark brown waves. The other rested on her hip, brushing idly in a faint touch she could almost mistake for affectionate, and he turned his face to kiss at the top of her head. The room smelled of sex and smoke and beeswax, the air warm around them.

She had no words, and for now, there was no need of them.

~*~

The fire had burned down to flickering embers, the candles dying one by one until only a few remained, and the room was dim and cool. Melora and Bull lay together on her bed, blanket draped over their legs. There was a silence between them, but a comfortable one, the same one they had together on the road, when Melora had run out of questions, when it was just the sound of their footsteps, the wind through the trees, and the soft click of her needles as she worked.

Now, in the room at the top of the tower, there was only the sound of their breathing.

"How did you know?" she asked, breaking the silence after a long while, laying her cheek against his chest, circling a fingertip over his skin.

Bull's hand rested on her lower back, idly stroking her with his palm. "Know what?" She could hear the words through his chest, a deep vibration with her ear resting on his skin.

"What I needed."

His chest quaked beneath her with a soft chuckle. "You didn't know yourself, did you?"

Melora pressed her face against him, curling her legs closer to his side in faint embarrassment, and she said, muffled, "No." She laced her fingers together atop him and lay her chin on the backs of her hands, and then turned to give him a sidelong glance. "I've never done _anything_ like that before. Nobody's ever done anything like that _to_ me before."

He looked down at her with a soft smile. His fingertips traced a line up her spine and made her shiver as he spoke. "Like I said, you're the Inquisitor now. Means everyone's looking to you to make the tough decisions. They already were, but the title's as heavy as that sword they gave you. The burden of it, of everything riding on you…" His smile turned rueful. "You try to hide it. Do a pretty decent job of it when you know people are looking, most of the time. Better than you did at first, anyway. That was a good speech, boss. But I've seen you, after a long session with the war council, and it's in your eyes… you look so _lost._ "

Melora let a slow breath out through her nose and nodded, her chin sharp on her hands.

"So, you turn the reins over to me for a while." He lifted his hand and gestured vaguely toward the window, then returned his hand to her back. Melora shivered, warm desire pooling in her again at his touch on her skin, the rich smoothness of his voice as he spoke slow and soothing to her. "None of that shit out there matters right now. Nothing in the world but you, and me."

He slid his hand to her waist, the pad of his thumb rubbing over the hard edge of her hipbone. Melora wrapped one arm over him, looking at him over the vast expanse of his chest. "As good as that sounds," she said, edges of her mouth curling up in a smile, "You didn't really answer my question. That could just as easily mean I needed a drinking buddy and a shoulder to cry on. How did you know that… that I'd like what we just did? I could have just as easily… I don't know, wanted to push you down and take you. Be in charge in a way I'd actually enjoy. Maybe I needed a… a sure victory."

"What, like I'm the naive young farm boy and you're the ruthless Inquisitor seducing the truth out of me?" There was an unusually mocking tone to his voice.

Melora rolled her eyes and poked him playfully in the side. "Well, not exactly, but… I'm curious. If this is a conscious decision for you, a, um, stylistic choice, then couldn't it be something different?"

Bull growled, a menacing sound that sent a searing rush of heat through her. She felt him tense beneath her, but he gave her no time to react. In a blur, he rose, seized her by the shoulders, pushed her onto her back, and threw his leg over her to pin her beneath his hips, his grasp on her rough. He leaned over her, eclipsing her small form entirely within his shadow, and snarled into her ear, " _No._ This is who we are. It'd be disrespectful to what you need to treat you any other way."

Maker's breath, he was exquisite beyond her greatest imaginings, and she trembled beneath her, utterly helpless with desire for him. He was so incredibly _strong_ , a masterpiece of honed power, capable of breaking her with ease. She could see what he could do in battle. Even without his great axe… fuck, even naked he was an imposing force. Yet every movement he made was controlled, skillful, and he did not break her. At least, not yet. But the night was not half over.

"It was no complaint." She lifted her chin to look him in the eye, but her voice shook. "Just a question. Because you still haven't explained how you knew."

"You are relentless," he growled, softer this time, and with one hand, he brushed the errant strands of hair from her face, leaning down closer to her. "I should find something for that mouth of yours to do other than pester me."

Melora giggled and lifted her head to press a playful kiss to his lips. "You're _staaaalllllliiiiiiiinnnggg_."

Bull gave a huffing grumble. "And you are taking all the mystery out of it."

She burst out laughing, loud enough to make Bull wince, and she shook her head in amused disbelief. "I am the Inquisitor! _I'm inquisiting_!"

He snorted and rolled his eye, and then sat back up, hands on his hips, regarding her contemplatively. "Alright." He set his jaw and said, in that low, rumbling voice that made her suddenly very aware of the throbbing ache he'd rekindled in her, "Look at me. Be still."

Melora obeyed, shivering, looking up into his face with wide, barely blinking eyes.

Bull lifted a hand and stroked his fingertips down the side of her cheek softly, watching her as he did. He slid his fingers over her jaw and brushed the flat of his thumb across her bottom lip.

"Open your mouth," he commanded in that same damned voice. Melora made a tiny noise and parted her lips. He slipped the tip of his thumb into her mouth, stroking rough against the edge of her tongue, and then further, knuckle scraping her teeth. He tasted of salt, and faintly, the sharp taste of her. She longed to slide her tongue over his skin, exploring that coarse texture. But she remained still, eyes trained on him. He gazed down at her, an approving grin on his lips.

"Suck."

She did as she was told, closing her lips around his thumb, curling her tongue around it too, probing the sharp edge of his nail, the hard ridge of the callous along the side. And she did not look away from him, though she desperately wished to flutter her eyes shut to savor the taste of his skin.

He allowed her to continue for a dozen breaths, watching her appreciatively, and then finally, he said, "You know, you're sucking my thumb." He grinned with fiendish delight at her.

Melora froze, staring up at him, and then her eyes narrowed. She spat out his stupid wet thumb and scowled up at him. "And just what--"

"Hush."

She went silent, though she still glared at him.

Bull's mouth split into a wide grin, and he shook his head. " _That's_ how I knew. Because since the very first day we met, you've not once disobeyed or hesitated when I've told you to do anything. I say something like a question or a suggestion, make it optional, you listen and consider. But if I give you a command, you do it. You know, you even asked me to command you more. Turned yourself into a weapon under my control in battle."

He leaned down and growled into her ear, "D _o you have any idea how fucking hot that is?_ "

Melora couldn't speak, could barely breathe, and she shivered beneath him, though she was not cold.

His voice softened once more, and he stroked his fingertips down her cheek, sitting up only slightly. "I probably should have told you sooner. It's a dangerous thing for a leader to be so easily, unconsciously led. But I, uh… Well, I had Krem try it on you. Don't worry, I didn't tell him why, just told him what to say one night in the tavern. Didn't work. So I thought, I guess it's just me. And I thought that if I told you, once you knew, that you'd stop."

Melora looked up at him, and after a moment, her eyes narrowed. "Wait, so _that's_ why Krem demanded my chair that one night? I thought he was just drunk and belligerent!"

Bull laughed. "Nah, Krem's a cuddly drunk. All 'Yer the best, chief!' and crap like that."

"Ah, shit," she said, smirking at his _terrible_ impression of Krem's voice. "I should probably apologize, then. I may have, um--"

Bull laughed again, shaking his head. "Yeah, he told me. Damn, you have a really filthy mouth. Don't worry about it, though. I've said worse to him just messing around. And I had to promise to pay off his tab just to get him to do it in the first place, so I think he's fine."

Melora laughed too, smiling up at him, wondering just how much he'd had to pay to prove his theory right.

This feeling, laughing with Bull about their friends… It was so familiar, so natural. Just like on the road and in the tavern, so much so that Melora's laugh trailed off, and she turned her face from him, pressing her forehead to his arm to hide the frown crossing her brow. She closed her eyes and tried to force a smile back onto her face. This was not the road, and not the tavern. He was naked, and so was she, and they were in her bed. It felt so good, being here with him, his huge body covering hers, warm and comforting, feeling so natural and easy. Yet she could not help but wonder what would happen tomorrow. Would everything be back to normal? Would they act as if it had never happened? Would the looks between them be awkward, their conversation full of nervous coughs and darting eyes? Worse, would it never happen again?

Dammit, why couldn't she just enjoy it? Why did she have to overthink everything?

She felt his fingertips stroking gently along her cheek, and he guided her face back to his and kissed her so softly and tenderly that she felt her throat grow tight and her chest clenched with sudden, inexplicable pain. " _Shhhh,_ " he hushed, his breath warm against her lips.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice cracking. "I don't--"

He kissed her again, shaking his head a little as he said, "You have nothing to be sorry for."

Melora gave a small, humourless laugh. "Bull, I started _crying_ earlier. _During._ "

He gave her a faint, sympathetic smile, thumb running idly along her cheekbone. "Yes, because you needed to. You were wound up so tight, you were about to snap. So when you finally relaxed… truly, completely relaxed, it was an emotional release too. If anyone should apologize, it's me. I, uh, kind of expected that might happen."

"It's more than a little unnerving that you seem to know what I'm going to do even before I do."

"Ben-Hassrath training, remember? It's my job to anticipate what you're going to do."

A little smile crossed her lips. "Yeah, you know, that doesn't make it any less unnerving." She lifted a hand and placed it on the side of his face, fingertips tracing the lines of the scars slashed there. "What am I going to do now, then?"

Bull chuckled softly. "Well, first, you're going to go get the bottle of good booze in the bottom right drawer of your desk and pour us both a drink. Then, you're going to come back to bed, and ask me to show you what I can do with just one finger." He raised a hand to wiggle a single finger at her, grinning.

"I hope it's better than what you could do with just one thumb, because you tried that earlier, and I have to say, I was not at all impressed."

He laughed a little. "Not that. Something else. You'll like this one." He rolled off of her to sit beside her on the bed and stretched, thick arms above his head, one palm wrapped around his wrist. He groaned with the pleasant effort of it.

Melora's eyes went wide watching him. Blessed Andraste, he was so beautiful, and seeing the rippling of all that muscle… She swallowed hard and sat up, hair falling loose and tangled over her back. "So what can you do with just one finger?"

Bull smirked, shaking his head. "Drink first. Then I'll give you a demonstration."

Melora grinned, quirking an intrigued eyebrow. She sat up, thinking to leap from the bed in impish eagerness, knowing it would make him laugh. She would do almost anything to make him laugh, the sound of him so rich and pleasant, rolling over her like thunder during a warm summer rain shower. Such a jump should have been easy for her now, as she did far more acrobatic things most every day, half of them while hanging from a moving, sweaty, blood-slicked horned giant.

But what she did instead was spring… and suddenly, she wasn't springing anymore, jerked suddenly out of midair to fall on the floor beside the bed in a heap.

The blankets had tangled around her foot and were anchored beneath Bull's ample backside.

For a moment, she just lay stunned on the floor, one whole side of her body distinctly unhappy with the sudden meeting with the floor. " _Owwww,_ " she gasped, and then she started laughing, helpless with embarrassed amusement at her own foolishness. Through her pained laughter, she managed to groan, " _Oh, fuck,_ that was stupid!"

The bed creaked with Bull's movement, and he joined her on the floor, pulling the corner of the blanket from her foot and tossing it back onto the bed. He was snickering as he crawled down over her, and Melora counted that as close enough to making him laugh, though it was not quite how she'd planned.

"Wait, how do you know there's a bottle in my desk?" she said, pushing her hair back and sitting up on her elbows.

He silenced her with a searing kiss and pushed her back onto the floor with a soft growl, the question quickly forgotten.

As was the drink.

And the bed.


	13. Chapter 13

The room was dark and cool, the fire turned to ash, all the candles burnt out. Outside the windows, the sky was dark, but lightening with a hint of deep blue. Dawn was coming. Melora lay with her head on Bull's chest, her arm wrapped around him, fighting the urge to close her eyes. If she fell asleep, the night was over. And if the night was over…

He was so warm, so solid and substantial. The rise and fall of his chest and the sound of his breathing felt like being rocked by the sea itself. And though they were both spent, too exhausted by the night's activities to continue any more, he had not stopped touching her, tracing his fingertips over her shoulder, down her ribs, over her hip, smoothing the fine hairs back from her neck and making her shiver. His touch was so deliciously soothing, gently stroking her skin but rough around the edges of his fingers. She was so tired, it was all she could do to turn her face up to his now and then, inviting a soft kiss on sore, swollen lips, before nuzzling back down against him and forcing back a yawn.

There was enough thin light to see the outlines of their clothes strewn over the floor when Bull kissed the top of her head and said softly, "Hey, I should, uh--"

Melora's arm tightened around his waist, as if she could keep him there by will alone. She shook her head against him. "Stay," she said, pressing her cheek closer to him. "We don't ever have to leave this bed."

He gave a soft chuckle. "Someone's gonna come looking for you eventually. And I have a training thing with the Chargers this morning."

"They can at least wait until the sun's come up," she protested, her voice taking on a little whine.

"They can," he said with a nod, kissing her hair again, pausing to pull a strand from his lips with his free hand. "But I need to get a change of clothes and some breakfast. And you need to get at least a little sleep. How's it gonna look if you're nodding off on your first full day as Inquisitor?"

Melora sighed, closing her eyes and hugging him close. She'd known he'd have to leave eventually. But she hated it. She'd waited so long to have him, and now that she did, she didn't want to let him go.

But, of course, she didn't have him. She'd had his body for a night, as so many had before her, and so many would after her. She should be glad of what she had, not wishing for more. The night had to end, and so did this. It was just blowing off steam, a pleasant diversion to relieve the tension. And it had worked. Instead of spending the night paralyzed with worry over her responsibilities, she'd spent it giving herself over to him, and instead of fear and doubt, she'd felt exquisite pleasure, made so much greater contrasted with pain.

And now it was over. Done. And there was nothing she could do about it.

Melora released him from her grasp, pulling her arm around him against her chest, feeling her heart sink. He didn't move immediately, and she thought she must have imagined the way his arm tightened around her for a moment. Bull pressed his lips to her hair, inhaling deeply.

She wanted to ask him so many things. But she was afraid of what the answers might be, so she stayed silent, and she sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees.

Bull leaned forward too, brushing her hair away from her back to kiss her shoulder before he got up and started retrieving his clothing. She watched him in the thin half-light, a huge silhouette stooping to the floor, quiet but for the rattle of his belt, the creak of leather as he slipped the harness back over his shoulder. He sat down on the edge of the bed next to her to put his socks and boots back on, reaching beneath the bed for the ankle brace.

When he was fully dressed, he turned to her, where she still sat hugging her legs. "Come on," he said, pushing gently against her shoulder. "Lay down, get comfortable."

He arranged the pillows behind her and as she laid back down, he pulled the blankets up over her. Then he leaned over and placed a hand on the back of her head, stroking at her hair. Melora looked up at him, frowning, but he only gave her a little smile, running his hand over her shoulder, her waist, and down to her hip. "Close your eyes," he said. "Get some sleep."

She could not help but obey, shutting her eyes and hunching down under the covers. Bull's hand lingered on her for a few moments more, and then he pressed one last kiss to her forehead.

Melora heard his boots on the floor as he made his way across the room and then down the stairs. She was glad she didn't have to watch him leave, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight, trying to ignore the tightness in her chest. She heard the heavy wooden door at the bottom of the stairs open, then close again, and just for a moment, she thought she heard voices outside the door. But she was so tired, so relaxed, she forgot it as soon as sleep took hold of her.

~*~

No telling how long Red had been waiting outside the door. Oh, she'd been standing like she'd just gotten there, but you never knew with a bard. And she was too clever to have left any sign in the dust on the floor. She did at least have the grace to look surprised to see him, but he caught the faintest narrowing of her eyes, a shift in the muscles around her mouth before he strode past her and headed down the stairs. She waited before following, probably to avoid the awkwardness of going down at the same time he did. That was fine. Bull didn't want to chat anyway.

He hoped the spymaster's nose wasn't as keen as a qunari's, or she'd have been able to smell Melora all over him. Not that it wasn't damn obvious what he'd been there for. Anyone with eyes (or even just one) could see the way Melora'd been looking at him, and now he was leaving her room at dawn with a damp spot on the front of his pants. Even in just the few seconds he'd spoken to Red, there was no way any half decent bard would have missed that. And the Inquisition's spymaster was no slouch. So Red knew. Not a big deal. She wouldn't tell.

He needed to find a bucket of water and some soap as soon as possible. Not that the smell was unpleasant. The problem was that it was exactly the opposite, so distracting he could barely think of anything else. The smell of her, still clinging to his beard so strongly it was like he still had his face between Melora's legs, fucking her with his tongue, squeezing her firm, tight little ass with both hands as she lifted herself off the bed, whimpering and whining right before she came, shoving herself hard against his face, greedy for more. And he'd been all too happy to give her more, holding her there even as she struggled to get away, until she'd had to plant her foot on his horn and push him off her even as she came again. _Ataas shokra._

He clenched a fist, growling at himself, trying to think of something else. This was gonna be difficult enough, sneaking out that door at the bottom of the tower and into the great hall without it being real obvious where he'd been all night. He really didn't need to be pitching a tent and drawing every eye to the damn wet spot on his pants, too. Might as well hang a banner from his horns that read I JUST FUCKED THE INQUISITOR in big red letters.

But the hall was almost empty when Bull slipped through the door. Just a few servants preparing the hall for the morning meal, and only one of them even noticed him. Of course, it had to be the one from the kitchens who'd been after him for weeks, the one with the curly red hair and the cute little gap between her teeth. She tossed her scrub brush on one of the long tables and scuffed her palms on her apron, sauntering over to him with a big smile, showing off that tooth gap, pressing her tongue to it.

"You sure are up early," she said, looking up at him with her hands on her hips, awaiting some explanation. This one definitely didn't have the bard's observational skills.

"Heh, yeah, got an early training session," Bull said with a shrug.

"Well, I'm getting off after lunch and will have some free time then," she said, leaning in a little closer to him, "Maybe you'd like to be… getting off too?"

Bull grinned. She was just his type. Redhead, cute, easy, and just looking for a quick tumble. He opened his mouth to say yes, but instead, what came out was, "You know, I'm real busy this afternoon." _Wait, what?_

Her smile faded. "Oh." The redhead's lips twisted as she thought. "Tomorrow, then? I've got the whole day off."

Bull rubbed at the back of his neck with his palm, ignoring the way her eyes widened as she watched the movement of his chest, and he tried again. "Yeah, uh, I think I've got a thing then, too. I, uh… I'll see you around though." _...the fuck?_

He stepped past her, and from behind him he heard a small, disappointed, "Oh. Alright… Bye," as he strode away as quickly as he reasonably could.

As soon as he was out of the great hall, down the stairs, and had reached the bailey, Bull could slow down a little. Wasn't obvious where he was coming from, and the sight of him going back to his room just after sunup was not at all uncommon. The sun was just coming up over the mountains, golden light spilling over the dew-wet grass. There were only guards and servants awake this early, and he took a moment to glance at the patrols on the walls. Just where they were supposed to be. Good. Nothing to worry about. He looked over the servants, too, bustling through the upper bailey as they fetched water and firewood for the morning's preparations. His eye scanned their clothing, their gaits, their body language. Nobody looked out of place, only a few of them even taking note of his presence, much less staring like they had at first. They'd grown used to seeing him around. And his generous tipping didn't hurt.

He gave a weary sigh and then growled at himself low under his breath. Why the fuck had he turned down that cute redhead? She'd practically been throwing herself at him for weeks. She'd have been damn fun to roll around with for a couple hours. But instead he blew her off twice, and she was unlikely to offer again. Crap, he'd be lucky if she didn't just glare in his direction every time he saw her.

Bull took the staircase to the lower bailey, drawing a bucket of water from the well before heading up to his room via the wall rather than the tavern. It'd be unlikely anyone would be drinking this early, but if he ran into Sera coming down for breakfast, she'd want to talk, and all he wanted to do was to get cleaned up and get on with the day. Sleep would've been nice, but he was used to going two or three days sometimes between sleeping. This whole Tal-Vashoth gig had allowed him the luxury of a safe sleep most nights, but staying up an extra day on purpose sometimes helped keep him sharp, so when he had to stay awake, he wouldn't be dragging ass.

Bull closed the door of his room behind him and let out a long, slow breath, setting the bucket down, and he went to go sit on the bed to undress. He threw his boots aside on the floor, and then he pulled off his socks, folding them together in his hands.

Then he stopped and looked down into his palms. He'd barely taken the damn things off since Melora had finished knitting them. They were wearing through at the toes and in a spot under the heel, and he'd have to ask her to fix them or make new ones soon. They needed a wash even worse than he did. He had other socks. But none of them fit as well as these did. And she hadn't made all the other ones. Bull frowned and set them aside, and reached into his pocket.

When he pulled his hand out, he held between his fingers a little copper button, a scrap of frayed beige thread still clinging to the shank. Bull huffed a breath, tucking the button into his fist, and hunched over his legs, staring unseeing down at the floor. For the moment, undressing, cleaning up, training with the boys… all of it forgotten.

_Aahhhh, crap._

~*~

Maker's balls, this was _insane._ It was probably the most foolish thing Melora could have done. She knew it, and yet, she was doing it anyway.

She had spent all day thinking about what to do, what step she could possibly take next. It had been a pleasant distraction from the arguing of her advisors, from the monotony of signing documents and trying to stay awake. She lost count of the times she had to stifle a yawn, pressing her teeth tight together so it could not escape. The war council certainly wasted no time in putting their new Inquisitor to work, and by midday, she had consumed far too much tea and not nearly enough to eat, her tired mind buzzing.

The rational ideas had come first… She could sit down with Bull and just talk to him, see where to go from here. Or perhaps invite him for drinks in her quarters and hope it ended up with their clothes strewn on the floor again. Maybe a walk outside Skyhold, away from the pressures of command and on neutral ground for them both.

Less rational ideas had come later. She could avoid the issue entirely and wait for him to say something, or run off into the mountains to become a hermit. There was also the rather appealing option of simply jumping on him and kissing him senseless.

In the end, she decided that her worst idea was her best option. No matter what she tried, failure would be catastrophic, so she may as well go all in.

This may have been why she was so terrible at cards and chess.

But this was no game. This was her life, and a real risk. Bull had become so many things to her now. Most importantly, he was her bodyguard. As Herald and Inquisitor and the only person capable of closing the rifts, it was vital that she survive, no matter the cost. His protection of her made him important to the Inquisition.

He was important to her, too. He was her friend, by far the closest friend she'd had here.

No, not just here. Her closest friend. She'd been friendly with people in the Circle, but she had never really considered them friends. She'd always kept them at arm's reach, keeping to herself and devoting herself to her studies. At first it had been out of fear and shyness, at being a tiny eight year old girl sent to live with strangers because of something her family seemed to think was shameful and wrong. But later, as she noticed how sometimes one of the other mages would just disappear one day, never spoken of again, she realized that it could happen to any of them at any time. Better not to care too much about any of them, because she knew she would be incapable of just dropping it, of letting them go without asking questions, even though she knew well enough that nobody asked those questions.

She didn't know why Bull had been different. He spent every day throwing himself toward danger. He could disappear from her life any day, fallen to a stray arrow or a slash of a sword he was a moment too slow to avoid. But he was just so easy to be around, his grin and laughter contagious, his ridiculous puns simultaneously so clever and awful. And he took his protection of her very seriously, putting himself between her and any major threat without hesitating. He used that keen mind of his to anticipate the battle and make sure she was out of harm's way. She had never trusted anyone the way she trusted him. And she'd never had near as much fun just being around someone. Somehow, the risk seemed to only heighten the enjoyment, laughing with him so often covered in someone else's blood, having just faced death and survived. The quiet moments, too, seemed easier. The silences between them were comfortable, their conversations flowing easily. She could be herself around him, and for the first time, she was beginning to learn who she truly was.

If this plan didn't work, if it went poorly, there would be no coming back from it. But her life now was about what others wanted from her. This was the one thing she wanted for herself. She had to try. She would risk ruining it all just for the hope of succeeding.

Melora carefully folded her clothes into a neat pile tucked beneath the bed and then she sat down on Bull's bed, completely naked. The room was cold, one corner of the roof caved in and open to the sky. Her skin prickled with the chill, but she resisted the urge to slide beneath the blankets. Her fingers went to her hair, pulling the ribbon from the end of her braid and then working it loose.

The doubts started immediately. The room had two doors to the battlements, and another leading to the top level of the tavern. Surely someone would walk in. Or maybe Bull wouldn't be back for hours.

Or worse, he'd come back, but not alone. The thought of that was almost enough for her to grab for her clothes, to put them back on and flee to her own room. She could almost see it, hear it too. The crashing clatter of Bull coming through the door, a giggle of one of the girls from the kitchen clinging to him. Maybe more than one. She had no objection to Bull's frequent sexual adventures. But she had no desire to find herself in the middle of one that did not involve her. There would be silence as they would see Melora there on the bed, the most pathetic creature in all of Thedas. Or worse than silence, laughter. And she would have to dress in abject humiliation, or run naked onto the battlements clutching her clothes. The Inquisitor, shaming herself for want of a damned Qunari spy.

Melora was a fool and she knew it, but instead of grabbing her clothes and leaving, she stretched out on the bed.

She had no idea how long she might have to wait here, and it gave her plenty of time to think about the thousand ways it could go wrong. She should have brought a book, or at least her knitting. Anything to distract herself from her own thoughts, mind conjuring up so many different terrible scenarios.

The most likely, of course, was that he would simply say no and send her away. It was almost a certainty, with what she knew of his habits. There'd been a Chantry sister back at Haven, several more laborers and craftspeople on the way to Skyhold, and most of the serving girls from the kitchens and the tavern. And those were just the ones she knew of. But as far as she knew, all of them had only ever been once. Why did she think she could be any different? Maker, he probably had just the right words prepared for exactly this situation, someone wanting another go, crafted in advance to sound kind and understanding but firm and unambiguous, complementary and maybe even a little self-deprecating. Perfect, soothing words that would all be a way of softening a no.

Melora folded her arms under her head and curled her legs at her side. She was so damned cold! How could Bull stand sleeping in here? He didn't even wear a shirt. He was warmer than most people, though. Perhaps he didn't feel the cold as much? She would have to speak with the crews about the repair schedule, to have them at least put up one of the old tents to cover the hole until the carpenters and masons could make proper repairs.

She reached back behind her to drag the corner of the blanket over herself. She had no wish for Bull to find her shivering with chattering teeth. And if someone else did walk in, it would be slightly less mortifying. _Slightly._

The bed smelled of him, a deep, rich smell like wet earth during a summer thunderstorm. Melora inhaled the scent and let out the breath slowly, closing her eyes. She was still cold, but at least his bed was fairly comfortable, stuffed with fresh hay, rustling a little as she moved.

It felt so good just to _rest_. She had so many responsibilities, so much to do, the times when she could just relax in the quiet few and far between. The stillness and silence was so peaceful.

Melora was so damned _tired_. It wasn't just the lack of sleep from the night before, but a bone deep weariness. There was always something more to do, someone to talk to, work to be done. The were a hundred things she should have been doing right now. Almost anything would have been more productive than whatever ridiculousness _this_ was. But none of those things seemed to matter now, when all she could think about was the smell of him surrounding her, and the aching soreness she'd been feeling all day, a pain deep in her belly, a ghost of the sweet agony he'd inflicted upon her.

She settled in to wait, curling into a ball beneath the blanket, wrapped in the smell of him, familiar and soothing.

Melora was aware of nothing else until she felt the bed dip beneath her, and a huge, warm hand brushed her hair back from her cheek.

Her eyes flew open and she jerked awake, making a wordless, panicked noise, trying to sit up but trapped under the blanket somehow. Bull was sitting beside her on the bed, looking down at her with a terribly smug grin on his face.

"Oh shit," Melora groaned, hiding her face against the bed, shaking her head as if she could deny this was happening hard enough to make it not so. "Oh, fuck, _noooo_."

She heard his low chuckle behind her, and she felt his hand on her shoulder. He pulled back the edge of the blanket just enough to see that she wore nothing beneath it, and then he tucked it back around her.

"How's it going, boss?" The smile was obvious in his voice.

"Not a word, not a fucking word," she begged, muffled against the bed. "Just wrap me in the blanket, pick me up, and throw me over the wall, please."

Bull gave a low, rolling laugh. "Nah. I like this blanket."

Melora lifted her face from the bed but still covered her cheeks with both palms, refusing to look at him. "I suppose I should explain."

"What's to explain? You came into my room to wait for me, took all your clothes off, let your hair down, and fell asleep on my bed. Seems pretty obvious to me."

Melora opened her mouth to speak but then shut it again, making a small noise. Then she said, "Well, yes. Though the last part was unplanned."

"Understandable, though. You were up pretty late last night."

Melora sighed, "You are enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am." He leaned over her, and she could feel the warmth of him around her. His voice rumbled deep in her ear, "If you turn over, you can start enjoying it, too."

Melora went still for a moment, confused. It couldn't be that easy, could it? She'd spent all day hand-wringing and worrying, come up with the dumbest plan she possibly could think of, and it'd… _worked_?

She squirmed onto her back, blankets still covering her, and Bull shifted, leaning over her on the bed. He gave her a soft smile when she opened her eyes. Then he dipped his head and kissed her softly, drawing his fingertips across her cheek. Oh Maker, it felt so good to kiss him, especially having been so afraid she never would again. "Once wasn't enough, hm?" he murmured against her lips.

"My count puts us at three already, at least."

Bull chuckled, kissing her again, his lips warm, sliding against hers. His tongue flicked over her bottom lip, drawing a helpless whimper from her. She needed to touch him, to feel that he was real, that this really was happening, and she had to struggle to get her arms out from beneath the blanket, the edges pinned under him. She felt his mouth turn up in an amused little grin, and she nipped at him in playful retaliation.

Her hands reached for him, sliding up the firm expanse of his neck and shoulders, his contours a complex tangle of muscles and scars that she longed to explore. She'd been greedy the night before, too dazzled by the idea of having him at all to truly savor him, but now she had him beneath her fingertips again, and she wanted to learn every bit of him, to sear into her mind the pattern of every scar, every hair, every vein and line of his beautiful body.

But then he pulled away, sitting back from her, and she made a disappointed noise, sitting up too.

Bull toed off one boot, then removed the other and his socks before standing beside the bed to undress. He did so slowly, looking down at her as he did, letting her watch him. There was no self-consciousness in him, not a hint of shyness or hesitation. Off came the shoulder harness and belt, and last, his ridiculous striped trousers dropped to the floor. He wore nothing but the patch over his eye and a very confident smirk.

Maker's breath, he had _everything_ to be confident about.

"Come here," he commanded her, and she obeyed gladly.

~*~

A while later, Melora traced her fingertip over the silvery scars on Bull's chest. She had never found scars so interesting before. But there was something about his, the way he displayed them with such pride, and the contrast of their shine against the burnished grey of his skin. They were beautiful on him. _He_ was beautiful.

There was a new mark on him, too, a bruise from her teeth on his shoulder, barely noticeable, but it was there. It would fade in time, unlike the scars, but she felt a strange pride that it would be displayed, at least for a while, alongside the other marks on his body. She stroked her touch across the bite mark, smiling faintly. It was on his right side, where it would not be covered by his shoulder harness. Others would see it. They would not know it was her who had marked him, but that didn't matter to her. He'd marked her too, of course, though she wore so much to stay warm, those bite marks on her neck and the bruises on her wrists would not show. But she wished for a warm day so she could roll up her sleeves and take off her scarf.

Bull held her close to him, quiet, propped against the headboard of his bed in his small, chilly room. The blankets were pulled up over Melora's shoulder, but tucked around his waist, and he didn't seem to be bothered by the chill, his skin still warm to the touch. He stroked her hair idly with one hand, the other resting heavy on her hip. His chest rose and fell slow and even, his eye closed.

She could have imagined he'd fallen asleep, until he said softly, "So, when're you gonna start asking questions?"

Melora tilted her face up to look at him quizzically. "I wasn't."

Bull snorted a small laugh and opened his eye to look down at her. "Yeah, you were, _Inquisitor_."

"I thought I was just relaxing with you."

"You are. But I know you. You've got a running list of questions and stuff you're wondering about in your head." He ran the tip of his finger down over her forehead, stroking the spot between her eyebrows. "You always do. Gotta know everything, figure all of it out."

Melora smiled against his chest, turning her face to press a soft kiss to his skin. "Am I really that predictable?"

"Yeah, mostly. Though you did surprise me showing up tonight, I'll give you that."

"Even though that really didn't go as planned."

"No? Looks to me like it went pretty well."

Melora laughed softly. "Yes, I suppose it did."

"So…?" he asked again.

She drew a deep breath, thinking. He was right on both counts. She'd stayed quiet till now, forcing back the questions that could complicate things. She didn't want to ruin this, or to push for anything more than he seemed willing to give. But the questions were still there, and they could only be put off so long until she would begin to feel like she'd burst from holding them back. Melora frowned as she thought, fighting the urge to shrink against him, to make herself even smaller. She had always had questions, but she'd gotten so used to pushing them away. It was only recently that anyone listened to them, let alone answered. But she'd never had anyone ask for them, until now.

"Um. Well… I… I probably should have asked sooner, but…" She chewed at the inside of her mouth, brows drawing together. "It's not… um, I mean, is it possible… There's half-elves, with humans. I know there's not half-dwarves, but, um, can Qunari and humans…?"

"You're afraid of getting pregnant?"

Melora nodded, feeling sheepish for not asking sooner.

"There's been a lot of humans living under the Qun for a long time. Elves, too, even some dwarves. The exact details of, uh, the breeding program, that's something only the Tamassrans know, but I'm sure if it were possible, they'd have tried it and found some use for the offspring. Nobody goes to waste under the Qun. Everyone is suited to a role. But I've never seen anyone who seems like they might be mixed."

"There's Qunari without horns, though…"

Bull frowned, looking away from her, and shook his head. "Yeah, but I don't think they're mixed. Just… different. I mean, there's at least as much variation in Qunari as you find in humans. Some of 'em are slim and small… Well, smaller, anyway. Others are huge like me. Different shapes of horns, different colours of hair, skin colour. A lot of Qunari have silver eyes, and the part all around is black instead of white. Not having horns is sort of unusual, but it's not like hornless Qunari are also usually smaller, with more human looking faces and pink or brownish skin, you know?"

"So… what you're saying is that you don't really know for sure."

Bull sighed, pressing his lips together, and he said, "It's not possible."

"But how do you know? If only the Tamassrans know the details of the breeding program and nobody knows their parents, how can you be sure?"

"Because I asked."

Melora blinked. "What do you mean, you asked?"

Bull brought his free hand to his forehead, readjusting his eye patch, and he shook his head. "Alright, listen. When I was sent to Orlais to do this whole 'Tal-Vashoth' thing, I was told I'd have to act the part. The way Qunari act outside the Qun is… well, we're not exactly the life of the party. But if I got to Orlais and acted like that, people would see through me in a second. So… relax, blend in, have some drinks, enjoy the local cuisine, and… 'enjoy the local cuisine.'"

He took a deep breath and continued, "Under the Qun, breeding is strictly controlled, but as long as you're not breaking any rules like doing it with your commander, you're welcome to have sex with whoever you want, whenever. And unless you've been ordered to do it with a particular person for breeding, there's… precautions taken. The women drink a tea every day, keeps 'em from getting pregnant, so they can have all the sex they want. Doesn't matter who they are, human or not, they all do it. The tea thing, I mean. But outside the Qun, well, Tal-Vashoth women might not do that anymore. May not be able to find the right herbs, may not want to, whatever. So they warned me not to, uh, come in any of 'em. Don't need one of their operatives helping the Tal-Vashoth by adding to their ranks."

Melora listened quietly, and she couldn't help but be fascinated by hearing him talk about life under the Qun. She'd asked him about it before, but he'd not usually gone into so much detail.

"But going to Orlais, there's a lot more humans and elves than Tal-Vashoth. So I figured I'd mostly be having sex with them, and… they don't drink that special tea, either. So, I asked if I needed to be careful there, too. And the answer was no. Wasn't something I needed to worry about. And I don't think they'd have lied about that, after they warned me about the other thing. Makes it harder for a spy to work if they're having to deal with the consequences of having an accidental kid."

"Oh," she said, a fleeting frown passing over her face, but she pushed it away. "I suppose it should have been obvious. Otherwise you'd have half the women in Thedas chasing after you with little grey horned babies."

"Only half? You wound me."

Melora jabbed him in the side and rolled her eyes. "So funny. Truly."

"I know, right?"

She gave him a dramatic sigh, but this was a relief, at least. Last thing she needed was to end up pregnant in the middle of all this. She'd always been careful precautions in the Circle. It was not unheard of for a Circle mage to fall pregnant, but it was always heartbreaking when it happened, knowing the child would be taken to the Chantry as soon as it was born, never knowing its parents, never to return… unless, of course, magical abilities manifested in the child as well. The very idea of having a child at all seemed absurd. She'd left all her sisters' old dolls behind when she'd gone to the Circle. And even for the smallest children there, there were no baby dolls to play with. It'd taken her nearly a decade in the Circle to realize that was clearly deliberate.

"That can't be everything," Bull said.

Melora nodded against him. "Well, um, on a related subject… You, um…" She started, and the words faltered. She had to begin again. "You… have had very casual sex with a lot of people."

"Yeaahhh…" He drew out the word, not sure where she was going with this.

"People you've just met, really."

"Sometimes, yeah."

Melora frowned, chewing at her lip. "So why did you wait so long with me?"

Bull made a low sound, like a chuckle. "You think this would have worked if it happened sooner?"

"I don't know."

"Yeah, you do. Think about it. What would you have done if I'd come to you at Haven, just after we met, before we got to know each other? You'd have blushed and stammered and ran away, and you wouldn't have been able to ever look me in the eye again. It'd have been uncomfortable, and you wouldn't have been able to trust me in battle, either."

Melora's lips twisted. "Maybe. But I would have at least seriously considered it because… well, just look at you."

"Wanting something and being ready for it are two very different things." Bull tapped a finger on the end of her nose and looked down at her with a smile. "So I gave you what you needed, then and now."

She gave him a quizzical look. "But we weren't… before?"

"Weren't we?" He stroked his fingers through her hair, nails raking pleasantly over her scalp. "You needed someone to talk to who didn't call you Herald, who would drink with you and laugh and be your friend. You needed someone to teach you how to use those daggers of yours. But more than that, you needed someone to show you how to enjoy the fight, to have fun with it."

He paused, gathering her hair at the nape of her hair in his hand, pulling lightly, and added, "You also needed to get used to the idea of being attracted to me. Needed to be able to flirt without the pressure of me flirting back."

Melora shook her head a fraction, unable to move much with him holding her hair. "That's where you're wrong. Maybe the getting used to it part, but… I thought…" She closed her eyes, huffing a sigh across parted lips. "I thought there must be something wrong with me, that you seemed to want to have everyone else but me. I mean, I suppose I wasn't surprised. You are… dazzling, and you know it. And a dragon doesn't lay with a mouse."

"Ah, crap," he said, and he leaned his cheek against the top of her head. "That ain't it at all. And if you think you're the mouse in this analogy… Alright, size-wise, I'll give you that, but you've got this whole… religious and military movement behind you. _Following_ you. You are no mouse."

"But compared to you--"

" _No._ " A single word, but harsh, and his grip on her hair tightened, tugging hard on her scalp as punctuation to his words. "Don't do that. I'm sorry that the way I responded to your advances made you feel that way. But that doesn't diminish who _you_ are. Me being great doesn't make _you_ any less."

Melora made a small noise, and his grip loosened, though she tightened her own grasp on him, curling closer to him, her arm tight around his waist, pressing her face against his skin. "You're right, I suppose," she said, her voice low. "Though… truly, I think you being great has made me better."

"How's that?"

"Like you said. You gave me what I needed. Trained me. Helped me cope with all of this. Fuck… without you there yesterday, there's no way I could have made a speech to all those people without you there in the crowd to focus on, urging me on."

"Sure you could have. You'd have found something else to focus on. Cassandra standing beside you. Cullen's confidence in you. Varric grinning up at you. Josephine barely able to contain her excitement. And if not one of them, then your faith. You give me way too much credit, because all this crap, you started on your own. By the time I met you, you had already made a name for yourself and that didn't have a damn thing to do with me."

"Maybe not. But… I wouldn't be here now if not for you. You've saved my life a hundred times over. You found me in the snow. You taught me how to fight. But more than that, you taught me how to _live_. I owe you so much."

"You owe me nothing, k--" He stopped suddenly, sucking in a breath, and she looked up at him to see the tension in his jaw, his gritted teeth as he swallowed hard and repeated, his voice strange and thick, "You owe me nothing, boss."

She couldn't resist sliding her hand over him beneath the blanket, skimming his hip and stroking lightly up his inner thigh, firm and warm. But she remembered the rules, and her touch strayed no further. "You've made me come at least twice as many times as you have. I'm pretty sure I owe you _something_."

Bull chuckled. "You are insatiable, you know."

Melora shook her head against him. "Nonsense. I am plenty sated. But you, on the other hand…"

"Surely you're tired?"

"A little, but not too much," she said, and she shifted under the blankets, throwing her leg over his and moving to straddle him. Bull's hands settled at her waist, and she stretched up to place a line of kisses up the side of his neck.

Bull tipped his head back, letting out a pleasant, groaning breath at the touch of her lips, and Melora rolled her hips against him, feeling his cock twitch beneath her. She was still so wet, so hot and slick against him. She nipped lightly at his ear and murmured, " _Please, let me serve you_."

He gave a low, feral growl, seizing a handful of her hair and yanking her head sharply back, exposing her neck. She gasped but did not resist, tipping her head back, offering her throat to him… to kiss, to bite, to tear out with his teeth if he wanted. Bull leaned in and ran his tongue up the line of her neck, rough and hungry, mouth closing on her skin, sucking at her flesh to leave a mark.

"Is that truly what you want?" he demanded, pressing her close to him. "You would give yourself up to me? Let me _use you_ however I want?"

"Yes," Melora moaned, grinding against him, feeling him harden and press firm against her wet cunt. "Yes, _please_."

Bull made a soft sound, almost a laugh. "So eager to beg me, aren't you?"

Melora nodded only slightly, unable to move more than a tiny bit with his grip on her, scalp prickling with the tense pain of it. "I want to please you. Let me be what _you_ need."

The corner of Bull's mouth turned up in a fiendish smirk. "Aren't you afraid? Offering that sweet little body of yours up to me, to do whatever I want to you… I could break you."

"Yes, please break me," she pleaded.

The smirk broadened into a grin, teeth glinting with predatory promise, and when he spoke, it was deep and slow, punctuated with a flick of his tongue over his lips. "You could writhe and struggle against my grip, but you would be _helpless_ , pinned beneath me, unable to break free even if you wanted to." He clenched her hair in his fist, pulling harder, and wrapped his other hand over her throat, bucking his hips up against her, his cock hard and heavy.

Melora whimpered, weak in his grasp, held fast with his hand tight around her neck. " _Take me_ ," she begged. " _Use me. I am yours._ "

Bull's eye narrowed a fraction for only an instant, and he pulled her hair back, pushing her down by her throat, bending her back, leaning over her, forcing her to go limp in his grasp, to yield to him. "It will hurt," he warned. "If you resist, it will hurt _more_."

"I want it to hurt," she moaned, back bowed, nipples drawing into tight peaks against the cool air on her skin. "Hurt me, please, Bull, _please_."

His grip on her tightened sharply, and she yelped with the sudden pain. Bull growled, looming over her. " _The_ Iron Bull."

Melora gulped a breath, and she looked up at him with wide eyes. "Whatever you want of me is yours to take, the Iron Bull."

"On your knees at the end of the bed," he said, his breath soft against her skin. "Hands on the wood."

She gave him a sidelong glance, the corner of her mouth turning up ever so slightly, and he smirked at her. "Of the bed," he clarified, a gleam in his eye.

Melora slipped from his lap and crawled to the end of the bed atop the blankets, skin prickling with the sudden chill, and she placed her hands on the weathered wood at the end of the bed. Bull moved behind her, and she shivered with the cold, and at the touch of his fingers sliding down the valley of her spine.

"Do you remember the watchword?" he asked.

"Yes." She gripped the end of the bed tighter.

"Good. Because you're probably going to need it," he growled.

She felt the bump of his knee against her leg, and then he leaned over her, feeling the radiant heat of his huge body against her back, and he gripped the end of the bed with one hand next to hers. His beard scraped over her shoulder and he murmured next to her ear, "You're sure about this?"

Melora nodded emphatically. "Yes, yes, _please_. Use me. _Take me._ "

Bull needed no more encouragement than this. He grasped the base of his cock with his free hand, guiding the tip against her slick entrance, and he drove deep into her in a single stroke, filling her. Melora cried out, fingernails biting wood. He groaned low against her shoulder, breath hot on her skin.

Bull's other hand joined hers at the end of the bed, her body pressed close to his beneath him, and he brought his mouth to her ear, nipping lightly at her. " _Just how much can you take?_ " he rasped, and he rocked his hips, pushing deeper, drawing a sharp gasp from her.

"All you have to give," she answered, her voice shaking.

The low chuckle against her ear pulled at something deep in her belly, sharp and aching. "You couldn't possibly," Bull said, giving her just a little more as he spoke.

Melora flicked her tongue over her lips and said, "Try me."

"Try yourself," he said, his lips brushing her earlobe. "Move. Fuck yourself on me. Deep as you can go."

Melora made a tiny noise and moved beneath him, rocking on her knees, feeling him slide within her, the aching drag of him so delicious she had to squeeze her eyes shut tight, overwhelmed by sensation. Then she rocked back again, further than before, hissing a breath through gritted teeth. And again, and again, each time sinking him deeper within her, until at last she felt the angle of his belly and thighs fit against her ass. Maker, she thought she had felt as much of him as she could the night before, but this… The angle let him go even deeper than before, and when she pushed back just a little more, filling herself with him completely, her arms quaked, struggling to keep herself from collapsing. It was a sweet torment, and she had to struggle not to tense as the pain increased, piercing and bright, deep inside her. She arched her back against him, relishing the feel of so much of him pressed tight to her, and was rewarded with Bull's shuddering breath against her neck.

She tipped her head back, pressing her cheek to his, and she stilled her motion to whisper, "Told you."

The rumbling laugh he gave in reply she felt through her whole body. "Proud of yourself, are you?"

"Ye-- _aaiiih!_ " He cut her off with a buck of his hips, and she yelped, startled with sudden pain.

Bull made a low, self-satisfied sound and nipped at her shoulder. "Now then. Listen carefully. You are to keep your arms steady. Don't let yourself fall forward or you'll crack your teeth on the end of the bed. No squirming away. And dip your back down, no arching. It'll help you keep everything here…" She felt a twitch of his cock inside her, and her eyes widened in surprise. "... relaxed and the pain bearable. I won't be stopping unless you use the watchword. You begged me to use you, and that's exactly what I'm going to do. This _is_ going to hurt."

"Good," Melora said, the word quavering on her lips, but there was no uncertainty behind it.

There was a sudden rush of cold that washed over her back when Bull sat up straight again, and she felt his hands on her, thumbs pressed into her lower back.

Then he drew back his hips and _rammed_ into her. Melora tried to scream, but the sound caught in her throat and she managed only a strangled groan. Bull gave her not even a moment to recover before he dug his sharp nails into her flesh and plunged deep into her again, and again. It was all she could do to keep herself from falling forward onto the end of the bed. There was a fury in him that she had not seen anywhere before... except on the battlefield. His breath came in rasping grunts, his grip on her immovable.

Melora cried out with every stroke, trying not to tense but failing, so overcome by the pain and his unexpected fervor. Surely she had known that he had this in him. This was what she had asked for, begged him for. But this was so far beyond anything she had imagined. He was no longer a man but a force of nature, an ocean beset by storm crashing upon her shore. She could no more struggle against him than the rise of the tide. All she could do was submit, to let the sensation wash over her, too let it suffuse her entire being, waves of sweet agony rolling over and through her.

She felt one of his hands lift from her skin, and then he twined his hand around her hair at the base of her neck, pulling her head back. With her hair as his reins, Bull rode her hard, gleaming with sweat despite the chill of the room, huffing hard with the exertion, his breath fogging the air.

Melora's hands clenched hard against the end of the bed, white-knuckled, and beneath her grip, the wood began to blacken and char, smoke rising from between her fingers. She had to force herself to breathe in time with his rhythm, each exhalation a choked sob. She could taste the watchword on her lips. Two syllables, sharp in her throat and a tap of tongue to teeth and she could end this. But her life was pain now, and this was a pain she had chosen, one she had welcomed and begged for. He might hurt her… but she knew he would never truly harm her. So she swallowed back the watchword, and drew breath through gritted teeth.

Bull's other hand left her, but returned a moment later, sliding around her throat, and he pulled her upright against him, releasing her hair to wrap his arm around her, fingertips clutching at her flesh, kneading at her as if he could not feel enough of her at once. Still he moved in her, his body rigid and hot upon hers, and he groaned against Melora's ear, the sound reverberating through her. "You feel so fucking _good_ ," he panted, his hand tightening around her throat, tipping her head back, his nails digging into the underside of her chin, and Melora wrapped her fingers around his wrist, not pulling him away but holding him there.

Her eyes fell on the burnt wood at the end of the bed, the impressions made from her fingers there, and she darted her gaze around the room, desperate for something to focus on... something to burn. She was dissolving, set adrift in his sea of exquisite suffering, and she needed an anchor, something to tether herself to. He had called her a dangerous thing once, and he was right.

Through the hole in the ceiling dangled vines and leaves, and Melora twisted her consciousness around them, feeling them growing green and bright, the taste of bitter sap in her mouth as she leaned back against Bull and gasped for breath, the sound lost beneath the slap of his thighs meeting the back of her own.

His hand skimmed down over her hip to her belly and then lower, finding her clit and stroking in time with his thrusts. Melora cried out, losing herself in the overwhelming rush of sensation. His other hand held her throat fast, not constricting her breath but preventing even the slightest of movement. He had her utterly at his mercy, his breath a growl in her ear, his cock a perfect pleasure and lancing pain within her, his body searing hot against hers.

Then his teeth found her shoulder with a feral snarl, his pace stuttering, and she felt Bull shudder against her. He pinched her clit between two thick fingers, rubbing at her with rough callouses, and light exploded behind her tightly shut eyes. She cried out in a desperate wail of agonised ecstasy just as his cock jerked and twitched within her. She felt the gush of his seed filling her, spilling out hot onto her thighs even as she felt him still pulsing within her.

She was still lost in a haze, catching her breath and leaning back against him, when she heard a bewildered, "What the fuck?" from behind her.

Her eyes flew open at the smell of smoke, and she blinked at the sight of flames.

The vines growing down through the ceiling were on fire. Tongues of flame licked up through the ceiling, threatening to set the roof ablaze.

"Shit! Sorry! Sorry!" she cried, and she balled up her right hand into a fist, focusing and feeling her fingers chill, frost limning her skin. She threw out her hand and wreathed the flames in ice, a spluttering hiss as the fire was extinguished. The charred remains of the vines crackled and fell to the floor in a blackened heap.

There was a long moment of stunned silence, Bull's arm still around her waist as they both stared at the corner, smoke still pooling against the ceiling.

Then Bull collapsed back onto the creaking bed in helpless laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. "You set my damn room on fire!" he spluttered.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean--"

He caught her by the wrist and pulled her down with him, still laughing, and he kissed her hard. "I knew you were hot for me," he said, still laughing against her mouth, "But that's a first there."

Melora buried her face against his neck, and she smirked as she did. "I, um… You probably should look at the end of the bed, too, then."

"What do you-- oh, seriously?" His gaze fell on the imprint of her hands burned into the wood and he snickered. "See, this is why I don't usually fuck mages. Well, that, and they kinda weird me out, but…"

She nipped at his earlobe. "Ass."

"You set my room on fire and then call me names too? Damn, boss, you're so _mean_."

Melora gave him a playful shove, but then curled closer to him, his body gleaming with sweat, deliciously warm against the cool of the room. "I'm usually able to control it better. I can push it into a fire that's already there, um, like I did last night... but all your candles have gone out, and I just expected to make that stuff smolder, not… whoosh."

"Well, next time, I'll make sure to have something safe to burn so you don't take out half of Skyhold when you come."

She lifted her head to look him in the eye. "Next time?"

"Uh, well, I mean… if you want to, that is."

Melora lay her head back down on his shoulder, curling her arm around his waist, her heart fluttering hard. _Next time._

"Yes. Yes, _please_ , more of this." She turned to press a reverent kiss to his shoulder, next to a silvery scar as thick as her thumb. "I like it."

"Of course you do. You found a part of yourself that you didn't know was there before."

"No," she said, shaking her head against him. "I didn't find it. _You_ did."

"Ben-Hassrath training, remember. When it's a hostile target, you give them what they want. But when it's someone you care about, you give them what they need."

 _Someone you care about._ She was certain she hadn't misheard him, but with all he'd said before, all she knew of how things worked under the Qun, perhaps he meant… She didn't know what he meant. But she was sure of the feeling of his arms around her at this moment, his hand curled around her hip, fingers idly tracing over her skin, and the way he tilted his chin to press his cheek to the top of her head. There was not lust or desire in those things, but tenderness. This was something other than just sex.

Melora closed her eyes. She had to ask. She knew she was going to ruin everything, but the question hung in her mind like a banner. "Bull, what are we doing?" she asked softly.

"Laying on my bed."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

Bull inhaled, nostrils flaring, and he gave a slight shake of his head. "That's up to you. You want to keep this casual, that's fine with me."

"That wasn't an answer."

"Seemed like one to me."

Melora lifted her head to look at him. "What we're doing, that's not just up to me. It can't be. What do you want?"

Bull gave a small shrug and didn't meet her eyes. "Yeah, I-- I dunno."

Melora blinked. "You've never done this before, have you?" she asked, her voice slow with the realization. "Not like this. Sex, sure, but… not as an ongoing thing."

"No. I haven't. Not like this. Not with a friend."

"Shit," she said quietly, and she let out a long, slow breath. "Well. That's…"

She didn't know what to say. Her stomach twisted, and she lay her head back against him, and they lay together quietly, the silence spooling out between them.

Finally, Melora said, "That just makes what you want all the more important." She traced a fingertip down the line of his neck, lingering over the spot that throbbed with his pulse.

"Boss, I--"

Melora frowned, cutting him off. "I'm not your boss right now, Bull."

He took a deep breath through his nose and said only, "...Yeah."

Melora looked back up at him, at the knot of his brow, and she shifted to sit beside him. She placed her hands on the sides of his face and kissed him softly. "No wonder you waited so long. Not just because of what you said before, that I wasn't ready, but… you weren't ready either, were you?"

Bull's hands went to her waist, encircling her with his fingers, and he pulled her closer, his tongue flicking across her lips. He slid one hand up her back, clutching at her. Melora realized, as Bull tried to deepen the kiss, that he didn't know how to answer, that he was trying to distract her with that wickedly talented mouth of his. And it was working.

She pushed herself up and away from him. He tried to follow, but she sat up all the way, swiping at her mouth with her hand, and then ran her fingertips down his jaw. "We don't have to figure all of this out tonight," Melora said, "I just need to have some idea of where we stand. What to expect from this. If this is really what you want, and if it is, what you want it to be. You've told me what it's like for qunari, so if you want this to just be… what was it, 'Thanks, see you next week'? I'll understand."

Bull's tongue ran over his lower lip, and after a long moment's thought, he spoke very slowly. "I want more of what we've been doing. Kick some ass, try to save the world, drink and laugh and fuck. And I want to tie you down and watch you realize just how much you like giving up _everything_ to me. And if we come across any more dragons, I really wanna fight them. With you."

Melora felt a fluttering in her chest, like a bird trying to break free of the cage of her ribs. She could not have hoped for such an outcome of this night. It was all she had wanted, and she would have it.

She would have him.

She didn't know for how long, but she intended to make the most of it while it lasted. Melora gave Bull a smile and kissed him softly. "We can definitely do all of that." She paused, tilting her head. "You want to tie me down?"

Bull grinned. "Yeah. Like, with rope."

Her eyes went a little wider, intrigued by the idea. Being tied down… it sounded so vulnerable. But this was Bull. She put her life in his huge, strong hands every day. If he wanted to hurt her, he could have done so at any point. She trusted him, and the idea of letting go like that, to let him take control of her completely… "I've, um, never thought about doing something like that before, but I think I could like it, with you."

He chuckled. "I get the feeling you had some really boring, crappy sex before you met me."

Melora nodded emphatically. "I had no idea it could be _anything_ like this."

Laughing, Bull shook his head. "We're only just getting warmed up. Haven't even started on the more interesting stuff."

"More interesting stuff?"

Bull gave her a fiendish grin and then said, the words slow and soft, "For now, you're going to curl up in my bed, and you're going to sleep. And tomorrow, when you're done being the Inquisitor, you're going to go up to your chambers. I'll be waiting there with a bottle of that blackberry wine you like, and a coil of rope. And then I'll… heh, start showing you the ropes."

Melora swallowed hard and nodded. "Oh. Yes, that sounds-- Wait, you want me to sleep _here_?"

"Unless you want to leave."

Melora shook her head emphatically. "No. Just surprised." She'd slept beside him in a tent before, of course. But they'd been fully clothed, and that was before. Oh, she'd wanted to curl up close to him, laid awake in the tent wondering what he'd do if she did… but she'd never let herself actually do it. That she would get to now seemed impossibly wonderful.  Even more so that he'd invited her to.

"Come on, then. Let's get comfortable."

Melora slipped off of him and onto the bed beside him. She opened her mouth and then closed it again, looking sheepish. "Do you, um…. is there a towel somewhere in this mess you call a room? Preferably a relatively clean one… Because comfortable is going to require some, um... cleanup first."

Bull raised his eyebrow and chuckled, pushing himself upright. "Oh, heh, yeah, I'd imagine you're a bit, uh, sticky."

"Sticky doesn't even begin to cover it. Andraste's flame, do you always...." She trailed off eyes widening at herself, and she pressed her lips together, her gaze darting away from him.

"What? Oh, come on, remember who you're talking to here. You know _I'm_ not embarrassed about this stuff, so you shouldn't be with me, either. Do I always what?"

She twisted her lips and then said, "Do you always, um... come so _much_? I mean, I know I was already really, erm, quite wet, but it's like I'm sitting in a puddle now."

Bull rolled a relaxed shrug, grinning. "Hey, what can I say? There's a lot of me. In every way."

"You are insufferable." Melora huffed an exasperated sigh, though she was smiling.

"Yeah, yeah. You like it. Now let's get you cleaned up. Lay back."

Melora wriggled up to the head of the bed. "You've got a towel?"

Bull crawled toward her on his hands and knees, eye gleaming fiendishly. "Yes, but I'm going to start with my tongue."

She pushed her hair back from her face, looking bewildered. "But you just-- I'm all-- That's your-- _Seriously?_ "

"You mean nobody's ever done that with you before? Damn, you really have been having awful sex." Bull frowned at her, almost with pity.

"Not anymore," Melora said with a smirk.

He grinned at her and pushed her knees apart, settling between her legs, and pressed a kiss to her thigh.

"Um…" Melora pushed herself up on her elbows, a frown on her face. "Sorry, um, am I allowed to… can I… Can I make a request?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Of course you can."

"Just… be gentle, please? I'm, um, a bit sore. Well, more than a bit."

Chuckling softly, Bull said, "I'd imagine you would be. I'm going to take good care of you. You just relax. You're going to sleep _very_ well tonight."

Bull teased his way up her thighs, fingers parting her to press a kiss against her, slow and ever so gentle. Melora gave a faint gasp and closed her eyes as he explored her further. Even against her soreness, the stroke of his tongue was strangely soothing, stirring a warm ache in her. She relaxed into his bed, sinking into it, her limbs growing heavy, and when he drew her to her peak, she came not with tension but with complete calm, tipping her head back and moaning softly, fingers grasping handfuls of the blanket.

When he was finished with her, he crawled back up to the head of the bed to join her, she gave him a sleepy smile, her eyes closing once more as he curled up beside her, wiping his mouth and gently tucking the promised towel between her legs. She was only slightly aware of a soft kiss pressed to her hair as she slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep, held close in his strong arms.

He was right, of course. She did sleep well that night… better than she had in a long, long time.


	14. Chapter 14

Melora drew a breath and let it out again, standing before the door leading to her chambers.  She stared long at the wood's dark grain, chewing at the inside of her lips, trying to keep calm.

He was in her room.  Just beyond that door, she would find Bull waiting for her.  She had only the slightest inkling of what he had in store for her. She had spent all day thinking about it, even before she had left his room at dawn.  She could still feel the ghost of his lips on hers, the murmured promise, " _I'll see you later,"_ and the smack on her ass that'd nearly knocked her flat before she slipped away in the half light of morning.  It had been all she could do to pay attention to her advisors, to keep her mind from drifting back to the things Bull had done to her, fingertips tracing over the scarf around her neck, covering the bites and bruises he'd placed upon her skin.  Every time she'd shifted in her chair, she felt a fresh reminder of the soreness he'd left her with, a deep and pleasant ache.

Melora swallowed hard and opened the door, hands trembling, and she pushed the door closed behind her before toeing off her boots..  The room was warm, and warmer still as she climbed the stairs, her heart pounding.  Shifting pools of golden candlelight and shadow were cast upon the high ceiling.  The fire in the hearth had been well set, crackling orange light spread across the floor, the doors to the balconies closed and the curtains drawn to hold in the warmth.  A faint scent hung in the air, too: floral, but not too sweet, with a richer, woody note she could not place.

When she reached the top of the stairs, her eyes fell upon him, and she could scarcely breathe.

Bull sat upon her bed, watching her, wearing nothing except the shining patch over his eye and a pleasant smirk.  The whole of his huge, solid body gleamed bronze in the firelight.  Melora made a tiny noise when he rose from the bed, his full height intimidating no matter how long she had spent in his presence.  He stalked toward her, every movement of his gait confident and powerful, languid as a lion.

Maker's breath, he was _so_ beautiful, every part of him sculpted and scarred, a weapon forged of flesh and blood and bone.  And muscle.  So very, very much muscle.

Bull stopped just before her, giving her a rakish smile.  "I was starting to wonder if you were gonna show up.  Lots of inquisiting to do?"

Melora nodded, gazing up at him and letting out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.  She flicked her tongue over her lips and stammered, "Y-yeah…  Finalizing the plans for the journey back to the Hinterlands.  We leave in two days, but there were still, um, a lot of details to go over, and I got tied up."

"Not yet, you haven't."  Bull's mouth split into a wide grin, and he seemed to stick his chest out even further, pleased with himself at that one.

Melora snorted a laugh, but she dropped her gaze to her feet.  

This was actually happening, and _now_ .  As much as she wanted this, wanted _him_ , her stomach still churned with nervousness, and she twisted the bottom edge of her coat in her fingers, pulling at the line of stitching in the felted wool.

Bull turned and strode over to the desk, and Melora watched as he poured two glasses of wine.  He was just as impressive from the back, the largely horizontal sweep of his horns a pleasing counterpoint to the lines of the brawny expanse of his shoulders, tapering down to his waist, arcing over his firm and ample ass, and tracing down the powerful thickness of his legs.  

But there was a softness to him too, a rounding to his belly, a dimpling of the flesh on his backside and thighs, and a faint tracery of silvery lines along his hips and shoulders. She wondered if he'd had that softness before he'd come to Orlais, before he'd started playing Tal-Vashoth, indulging in food and drink with the same relaxed attitude he seemed to have toward sex.  Had he lived a life of seriousness and self-denial before?  It seemed hard to believe, that he could ever have been anything other than this huge, beautiful man with a booming laugh, a wide smile and a love for puns and pies.  What had he been like when he was younger, with both eyes and not so many scars? Before he came to Orlais and Ferelden, before Seheron?  Harder, leaner… and angrier, too, she guessed.  Not the sort to carry on with a foreign mage like this.  And probably not someone she would have liked nearly so much.

Bull lifted the glasses, looking tiny in his huge hands, and he glanced back at her over his shoulder.  Melora looked away, feeling her cheeks growing warm.  Chuckling, Bull strolled back to her and held out one glass of wine.  "You can stare if you want.  You're not going to make me blush if you look."

She took the glass and gave him a little smile and nod of thanks in return.  "What _would_ make you blush, I wonder?"

"I dunno, you think blush is really my colour?  I think I prefer a brighter pink, like dawnstone," he replied, sidestepping the question.

"Brighter pink, yes.  And maybe a deep aubergine?  Or wine red, perhaps?"  She let him get away with the non-answer, and asked instead, "So, um, how does this work, exactly?"

"Well, first, you're going to finish your wine.  Then we'll get you out of those clothes, and nice and relaxed."

"I think I may need a second glass before we get started."  She took a big sip of wine.  It was her favourite, a sweet blackberry wine that stained her tongue and lips purple, but tasted of autumn sunshine.  She took another sip, more of a gulp.

Bull chuckled and shook his head.  "No.  Just one.  You need to be comfortable, but not dull.  If something hurts, or you start losing feeling in one of your limbs, you need to be aware enough to say so."

She nodded her understanding and took another, smaller sip, looking up at him over the rim of the glass.  The way he looked at her, his craggy face painted with strokes of golden firelight, that faint little smile of his, the way his eye narrowed as he watched her, like he could look right through her… He sparked such a delicious warm ache inside her.  And that feeling of longing for him had grown familiar, made only more acute now that she experienced what exquisite bliss his touch could ignite within her.  He was _right there_ , so close she could reach out and touch him.  And she _could_ just reach out and touch him.  Right now, she could stand on tiptoe, slip a hand around the back of his neck, and pull him down for a kiss, and she knew he would not deny her.  The very idea was dizzying, having spent so long wanting him, all the while so sure she could never have him.  That she _could_ have him, and not just for a night… that tomorrow, the day after, she could ask him to join her in her quarters, and he _would_ … That she had awoken that morning wrapped in his arms, that the first thing she had seen was his smile, the first thing she had felt had been his kiss… Of all the impossible things that had happened to her, she found it hardest to believe that _this_ was real.

"You scared?"  Bull tipped back half his glass in a single mouthful and then swiped at the corners of his mouth with his forefinger and thumb.

"No."  Her voice trembled.

He gave a slow shake of his head.  "We can't do this if you're going to lie to me.  And I can tell when you're lying."

Melora dropped her gaze to the floor, her brow knotting in shame.  "I'm sorry.  I'm… I'm just not used to someone actually wanting to know."

"You're used to telling people what they want to hear, whatever's the least trouble.  You learned how to keep your head down and not make waves.  I get that.  It can come in handy sometimes.  But you're a leader now.  You're going to have to make some hard decisions, tell people shit they really don't want to hear.  You've got to learn to turn off that instinct to never rock the boat.  That learning starts now.  You will tell me the truth, every time, in this room and outside of it.  Even if you think I'm not going to like the answer."

Bull reached out and took her chin in his hand, fingers rough on her skin, and he raised her face up to look at him.  "Take a moment before you answer," he said slowly, looking into her eyes.  "Think on what you say.  You will tell me the truth, or say nothing at all.  If you need time to consider, you tell me so.  Alright?"

Melora swallowed hard, and then said, "Yes.  Sorry."

"Good," he said, an approving smile on his lips.  "Then let's try this again.  Are you scared?"

She nodded.  "Yes."

"Of me?"  He stroked his fingertips along her jaw.

Her eyes flicked back and forth, searching for the right words, as if she might read them there in the shadows of his face, written upon the arcing lines of his horns above her.  "Not… not really.  You are… very intimidating.  But I know you won't hurt me.  Not really, anyway.  Nothing that would last."

"What are you afraid of, then?"

Melora tried to look away, but he caught her face in his hand, holding her steady, and she closed her eyes instead.  "I'm…"  She let out a slow breath through her nose, pressing her lips together.  "I'm afraid of not being… enough.  Of not being able to do this right.  And of disappointing you.  I have _no idea_ what I'm supposed to be doing here."

Bull released her and ran his fingers back over her hair, pulling the tie from the end of her braid and working her hair free to fall loose over her back.  He slipped his fingers through it, his touch gentle and soothing.  It was a strange feeling, almost as if he were petting her, but she felt the tension in her falling away.  He seemed to know just what she liked, just how to calm her.

"Just relax," he murmured softly, sliding his fingertips down the side of her neck, rubbing the flat of his thumb over her throat.  "You just do as I tell you. Take the world off your shoulders and give yourself over to me.  That's all you have to do.  Well, that, and finish your wine."

Melora glanced down into the glass she'd almost forgotten she was holding, and she gulped the rest back.  Bull finished his own and then took both glasses over to the table beside the couch.  When he returned, he looked down at her and said, "Tell me what you're thinking."

She flicked her tongue over her lips, thinking how to put it to words, and then said softly, "I just… I've only read about this sort of thing, and I'm pretty sure that was… not all that realistic.  It just seems so… serious, like the people involved are so focused and always know just what to say and do.  And I'm just… me. I'm not…. someone who does this kind of thing. If I do something wrong or if I--"

Bull hushed her gently, stepping forward to slide his hands down her arms.  "I know you've never done anything like this before. But all I'm expecting of you is that you will relax and obey.  As to what you say… that's up to you.  As long as it's the truth, it can be anything.  There's no script here.  No wrong words, nothing you can do that's going to disappoint me."

"But what if I… I don't know, start giggling at the wrong moment or something?"

He gave her a warm, understanding smile, taking her hands in his, and he brought one up to his lips, kissing at her knuckles.  "You need to giggle, you giggle.  You need to laugh, you laugh.  Or yawn or fart or burp or whatever you need to do."  He paused for a moment.  "Well, I'd really prefer you didn't, uh, make a mess of yourself, at least not without warning me, but I'm not gonna freak out, even if you do."

Melora gave him a horrified look and shook her head emphatically.  "Under no circumstances will I be doing _that._ "

Bull laughed. "I dunno, you'd be surprised what people will do when you push them to their breaking point while they're relaxed… But we're not going to be doing anything near that intense.  Just saying, though, even if you did, it ain't the end of the world.  But bursting out laughing, crying, whatever… that's pretty normal.  Just like before, that first time.  You're letting go, putting yourself in my hands.  Sometimes you let go of more than you mean to."  He tugged lightly at a lock of her hair.  "But… this is something happening _to you_ , alright?  This is not a performance for you, not somewhere you have to worry about saying or doing the right thing.  Just feel, and react in whatever way feels right.  You trust me, don't you?"

Melora nodded.  "Completely."

"Then trust that I want to do this with you.  And that I know you well enough to be sure that you'll do fine at this.  If I thought you weren't ready for it, I wouldn't have suggested it."

She swallowed hard and nodded again.  "It's just… a little overwhelming.  A few days ago I was pining over you and trying not to make an ass of myself, and now we're… we're in my room, that wasn't even my room before, and you're about to… do something to me with rope, and you're _naked_ and… _fuck_ you look good naked, sweet Maker, Bull, how do you keep your hands off yourself?" The words tumbled out of her quickly, and her eyes went wide.  She covered her mouth with her palm.

Bull threw his head back and laughed.  "Ah, but you see, I don't!"  He took his cock in his hand and waggled it vigorously at her, and it made such an absurdly improbable flapping noise that she burst out laughing too.

"Stop, stop," she gasped, shaking her head and shrinking back from him.

"Sorry, can't hear you, dick's too loud!" he said, stepping forward and slapping his cock repeatedly against her arm.

Melora squealed and turned to flee, but Bull caught her around the waist and lifted her up off the ground, throwing her over his shoulder to tuck her her neatly under his horn.  He wrapped one arm around her legs to keep her from struggling, and drummed on her ass with his other hand.  "Still scared?" he asked.

She had to catch her breath before she could answer, still laughing as she said, "How can I be scared when you're so damned silly?"

He gave her a mostly playful smack on her ass and said, "That was a question, not an answer.  Try again.  Are you still scared?"

Melora started to shake her head but then stopped herself.   _No_ would be a lie.  She said instead, "Not nearly so much."

"Good."

He set her back on her feet and then smiled at her, and truly, she was far less afraid now.  The fear wasn't gone, however much she wished it would go.  A little wine and laughter couldn't rid it from her entirely.  But it wasn't just wine and laughter, of course.  It was _him_.  Bull was the essential part in all of this, this magnificent and powerful man who had washed up on the shore of her life.  She had faced things with him that she never could have imagined before. How many demons had they slain together? She'd even let him throw her onto a dragon, and all she'd felt then was excitement, not fear.  If she could trust him to do that, and to catch her when she fell from the beast's wing, surely she could trust him with this.  Fear was pointless.

Bull leaned down to kiss her, gentle yet with a hint of hunger in the way he slid his hand to the back of her head to grip at her hair.  But he drew back to say quietly, "Now, you go stand in the middle of the rug."

Melora took a swaying step back when he released her from his grasp, blinking at him and giving him a little smile.  Then she did as she was told, turning to walk over to the center of the plush round rug that lay between the bed and the couch, its dark blue background marked with the golden sunburst of the Maker's light.  She heard Bull's footsteps pass behind her, and she did not turn.  

"Undress," he said.  Just that, only one word, but said in that same steady voice he used when he commanded her in battle.  She was certain he knew just what that voice did to her, the _compulsion_ it awoke in her.  

Melora drew a sharp breath through her nose and obeyed, quickly unbuttoning her coat and slipping her blouse from her head, followed by her trousers, socks, and smalls.  Each she folded neatly and then placed them in a tidy pile on the couch before returning to the center of the rug, feeling exposed in her sudden nudity, trying to figure out what to do with her hands.  She settled on placing her palms against her thighs as Bull came up behind her, close enough that she could feel the radiant warmth of his body against her back.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, brushing her hair back, and hunched low to speak softly to her.  "We're going to do this very slow. Nothing complicated this time, just wrapping you up a little so your arms are restrained.  Your legs will still be free.  Put out your hands in front of you, palms up."

After she had done so, Bull reached around in front of her and lay a loop of narrow rope stretched over her palms.  "Simple rope," he explained. "More of a cord, really.  Not too rough, not too smooth.  In a moment I'm going to tie you with this. You will feel pressure, and you won't be able to move your arms, but it shouldn't hurt.  If the rope hurts, you tell me.  You start to get a tingling somewhere like something's falling asleep, you tell me.  I can get you out at any time, so if you really need to stop, you say _'katoh'_ and you'll be free in seconds. Sound good?"

Melora nodded.

"No," he said, and there was an edge to his voice, a warning that made the fine hairs at the back of her neck stand up.  "While we're doing this, any kind of restraint, anything that can be dangerous, you speak to answer me, unless you can't.  Yes or no answers are fine.  Happy vowel sounds are also acceptable, as long as I can tell you're still alright.  If you can't reply with words, I'll give you some sort of signal you can use instead.  But if you can't answer at all, you can't tell me if something's wrong.  Got it?"

"Yes," she said.

"That's better."

He took the rope from her, and there was a pause before she felt him rest both hands on her shoulders.  When he spoke, his tone was low and soft, wrapping around her like smoke, soothing and slow, as if they had all the time in the world for this.  "Look into the fire," he said, and as he spoke, he ran his hands ever so slowly down her arms, palms warm and leathery.  "Deep breaths.  Become aware of each part of you, starting with your toes and moving up to your feet, your legs, your body, your arms, your neck, your head… Let that awareness flow through you, and let the tension fall away.  Feel it dripping from your fingertips, out of the soles of your feet, all that tension melting away like wax from a candle.  Just relax and look into the flames and listen to my voice.  You don't have to do anything but stand there and breathe.  All you've got to do is just be, right now, right here in this room with me.  Nothing else going on outside, no yesterday, no tomorrow.  There is only here, now, and us."

Bull gathered her hair at the nape of her neck and twisted it in his hands, tying it into a loose knot there to keep it out of the way.  "You're shivering," he said. "Are you cold?"

"No," she replied, staring into the bright tumult of flames dancing in the hearth.

"Excited?"

"Yes."

He made a low, pleased sound, not quite a chuckle, and stroked his fingers over her neck and collarbone, tracing the contours of her, making her shiver even more.  Her nipples drew into taut peaks, her skin prickling with a chill despite the warmth of the room.

There was a pause then, and he drew back, dipping into her view for just a moment, leaning around her to set in front of her the footstool that had been beside the couch.  She'd had her knitting there before, but she trusted him to move it without carelessly dropping stitches from the needles.  "Step on," he said.

She tilted her head to peek curiously at him from the corner of her eye, and he was smirking.  "The footstool's not part of the fun," he explained. "You're just _really_ short."

Melora cracked a smile and stepped up onto the tufted brocade.  "I'm not _that_ short," she replied.  "Maybe you're just really tall."

"You _are_ that short," Bull said, settling in behind her.  Even with the extra height, he had to lean down to rest his chin on the top of her head, wrapping his arms around her.  She could feel the rough of the rope against her shoulder blade, thrown in a loop over his left shoulder.  "And I _am_ really tall."

He pressed close behind her and just held her to him, his body so warm and solid it felt like leaning against a rock heated by the sun.  He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her hair, and then smoothed his hands down her arms, skimming his palms over her skin.  He slid one hand up her side, just brushing the outer curve of her breast, and then back up, to place the tips of his fingers lightly upon her throat.

Melora drew a shaking breath, tensing in his grasp, and he pressed gently against her throat with his fingertips, urging her to relax back against him.  He made a low noise, shushing and soothing, his breath fanning soft across the side of her neck.  She tilted her head, and he pressed a gentle kiss to her skin, just below her ear, and then guided her with the press of his thumb against her jaw to tilt the other way, and he kissed her neck there too.  It was only then that she realized what he was doing.  Just as a sculptor works the clay in his hands to condition it before working, so too Bull was conditioning _her,_ softening her to his touch, relaxing her so that she could be sculpted as he wished.  The thought excited her.  Just what would he make from her?

She felt Bull shrug the rope from his shoulder and he drew slowly back from her, so that she did not fall back, leaning as she was against him.  With one hand, he guided her arms behind her back, bent at the elbow and with her forearms together.  When he had her positioned how he wanted, he gave her forearms a firm squeeze, an unspoken _stay like this_.

The rasp of her rope slid between her arms and back, followed by the brushing tickle of the frayed cut end, and with what felt like only a few quick pulls, Bull anchored the end of the rope to her forearms, tying them together.  Then he drew the length of rope around her, encircling her shoulders and upper chest with it, fingertips guiding it into place and pressing it firmly against her skin.  His lips brushed her ear, barely touching her, and he added a second loop, just below the first.

He wrapped the rope around her again, draping it loosely, and grasped the ends in both hands, holding a short length of it taut to drag down over her chest.  He traced the curves of her breasts, the rope's rough texture a delicious contrast against smooth, sensitive skin.  Melora gasped when the rope rolled over her nipples, and then he pulled it up beneath her breasts, binding her arms at her sides.

She sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden tightness around her, and Bull paused behind her mid-knot to check the cord he had just placed, running his fingertips over it, smoothing over her skin too.  Satisfied that it was not too tight, he finished the knot behind her back, pulling the ends with abrupt jerks of movement that she felt acutely where the ropes crossed her body.  The awareness of every motion was incredible.  Every breath, she could feel not only in her lungs, but her skin.  Every shift of the muscles in her back, shoulders, and chest, she felt sliding beneath the bindings.  She gave an experimental tug, trying to free her arms, but they were completely immobile.  She couldn't get free even if she wanted to. It should have scared her, being this vulnerable.  But she felt no fear.  Not of him.  He would never harm her.

And with each passing moment, he added to the ropes laid over her body, weaving her like a fly come willingly to his web.  His huge hands moved with care, tracing over her skin as he lay the rope on her, so that Melora was bound not only with the rope, but with his touch as well.  He reached in front of her to bring the rope around her, his huge forearm dragging across her chest, sliding against the hard edge of her jaw, and she could not resist turning her head to press a fleeting kiss to his skin as he tied her.

Bull worked another knot at her back, and then he took a moment to brush a few stray hairs from the side of her neck, leaning in to kiss her shoulder.  His beard tickled faintly and his breath fanned hot across her skin.  She could feel, too, the warmth of his cock pressing against the back of her thigh.  He shifted so that the thick, heavy length of him slid against the cleft of her ass, velvety on her skin as he rolled his hips forward.  Melora whimpered, closing her eyes and pushing back against him.  The knowledge of his arousal excited her, and she could feel the throb of her pulse between her legs.  He wanted this, wanted _her_.  As if in response to the thought, he skimmed one hand over her hip to her belly, pressing her close against him, rubbing himself against her with a low groan that made her knees weak.

Melora tipped her head back to his shoulder, and Bull kissed her cheek.  She felt his lips turn up into a smile, and that hand splayed across her belly moved down, brushing across the dark, curled hair there, lightly enough that it tickled and she had to press her teeth together to keep from giggling.  But all urge to laugh ceased when Bull murmured, "Legs apart, boss."  He added, "Carefully, and just a little, or you'll fall."

She made a tiny noise and then edged her feet to either side, feeling for the sides of the footstool, leaning against Bull's chest.  He waited until she was still again, and then his fingers strayed lower, his touch light and teasing.  She gasped as he stroked at her, slick and hot on his fingertips.

Bull gave a low, amused noise by her ear.  "Is it the rope, or are you just always turned on when you're around me?"

Melora grinned.  "I like the rope.  But… ah--"  She drew in a sharp breath as his fingers dipped lower, one pressing into her, and she closed her eyes.  "I'm alone with you, and we're both naked.  Of course I'm turned on."

"You know," he said, his lips brushing her earlobe, "Just because we're alone and naked doesn't mean we have to have sex."

Melora opened one eye, turning her head to glance at him.  "What, like, lounge around reading books in the nude?"

"Sure," Bull said, sliding that single finger in and out of her slowly, his words just as slow and soft.  "Or you could knit socks.  Or we could just talk."

"You're… unhh…. assuming I could keep my hands off you."  It was difficult to think and even harder to talk while he was touching her like this, but that seemed to be part of the game.  Distracting her with his fingers, while still requiring her to speak.

"You would if I commanded you to."

"You really want to… do that? Why?"  Maker's breath, how could he expect her to carry on a conversation like this?

"It'd be fun to see you squirm.  And, uh…"  He trailed off then, and she heard him flick his tongue over his lips as he thought.  "I've kinda gotten used to spending time with you.  Talking to you.  Telling you stupid jokes and watching you laugh at 'em.  And I don't wanna stop that just because we're doing this."

"You say that with your hand between my legs."

He chuckled a little, dipping a second finger into her.  "Yeah, well, I didn't say I wanted to _stop_ doing this, either. Just… that too."

She could not put it to words, too lost in the way he stroked at her, but some part of her realized what he was doing.  He had waited till he had her tied up and his fingers teasing her before asking this of her. The other parts of this were so unfamiliar to him, the only way he could talk about it was to wrap it up in sex.  But even as he sparked the flames within her, the corners of her parted lips twisted into a smile.  He was asking for this to be more than sex, more than fighting together, more than drinking to their kills and travelling together.  He had asked her to stay the night last night.  Now he was asking to just spend time with her while she knitted socks.  Sure, he'd specified nudity as part of it, but she had no objection to being able to see him naked.

Her thighs trembled as he slipped both fingers alongside her clit.  But then he brought his hand away, bringing it to his lips to suck her wetness from his fingers.  "You don't get to come yet," he explained in response to the disappointed noise she made.  "Besides, it's so much fun teasing you."

Melora whimpered, denied his touch and wanting it to return.  But for now, he took up the end of rope again and hooked a loop of it over one finger.  He brought it in front of her, and drew the length of it over her throat, sliding across her skin.  He applied only the slightest pressure, dragging it slowly over her neck, yet it was enough to make her shiver, bare skin prickling with a chill that was far more heat than cold.  He lay a line around her shoulders, crisscrossing over her chest with an X between her breasts, a twist below the dip at the base of her throat.  Finally, he finished with a last knot, fastening the end of the rope to a confluence of strands in the middle of her back, just below her shoulder blades.

She felt a sudden coolness behind her as he moved away, and Bull draped his hand over her hip, stepping around the side of her, brushing his touch across her waist as he did.  He stopped in front of her and tilted his head slightly, smiling and admiring the look of her like this.  He brought a finger up under her chin and asked, "This good?"

"Oh yes," Melora hushed, her eyes sparkling.   _Good_ didn't even begin to describe it.  She'd expected maybe he'd lash her wrists to the bed, or tie them behind her back.  But this, the way he'd wrapped her up… it was beautiful, artful, not just restraint but decoration.  She wished she could see than just the ropes crossing her chest and shoulders, but she was sure it was just as pretty in back as well.

Bull grinned at her eager reaction.  "Good.  I knew you'd like it.  Damn, I wish I could have a picture of you like this to look at whenever I want.  I wonder if Solas would paint you for me--"

"Don't you _dare!"_ she protested.

Bull burst out laughing at her horrified expression.  "I'm kidding!  Well, mostly kidding.  I don't think he'd do it anyway.  Hmm, I dunno, he might.  Try as he might to hide it, he's got a dirty streak."

"You even make a move toward that door to go ask him, I'm burning through these ropes and then setting your pants on fire."

Bull grinned broadly at her.  "Don't worry.  I've got a pretty good memory, and that'll have to do.  Besides, I'm still not done with you, boss."

She glanced down at herself and smiled nervously.  "Well I think that's all the rope, isn't it?"

"Not what I meant."  She could feel Bull's gaze on her, taking her in, and there was something predatory in the way he looked at her, in the curl of his lips.  "Just what am I to do with you, hmm?  Of course, I could do whatever I want with you now."

"And just what do you want to do with me?" Melora asked, in a voice she hoped didn't sound as unsure as it seemed to her.

He reached behind her and took hold of her arms where they were tied, and said, "On your knees, still on the footstool.  Careful not to step off.  I'll hold you steady."

Melora did as she was told, unable to use her arms for balance but relying on him to keep her from falling.  With her knees at the edge of the footstool, she felt precarious, but took a moment to find her balance, and then Bull stepped back, looking down at her with that same hungry smirk.  Maker's mercy, he was so _massive_ , especially looking up at him this way, and he wrapped one of those huge hands of his around her jaw, running his thumb over her bottom lip. "Such a pretty little thing you are," he purred. "Tied up like a present, just for me. To use as I please."

The warmth of his praise suffused her body like summer sunlight, and she basked in it, gazing up at him, dark eyes wide.  She gave the slightest of nods against his grip, feeling her hair tighten, pulling at her scalp. "Anything, everything I have to give is yours to take."

"I'll be taking your mouth."  It was no question or request but a statement of fact, so very sure of himself in spite of the fact that they had not yet done that.  

She had been afraid to try, not knowing if it could even work.  How could it, when he was so damned _big_ ?  But of course, he must have experience in this sort of thing, and he must know that it could be done, even as small as Melora was.  It seemed so strange to try the first time now, with her unable to have any real control over it… but perhaps that was the point.  And she was certainly plenty willing to try.  So much of what they did seemed to focus on her.  She wanted to do more with him, _to_ him, to make him feel as good as he made her feel.  She knew she had nowhere near the talent and skill he did… but she doubted there were few others in all of Thedas who could rival his skill in the bedroom, or the battlefield.

He reached back to undo the knot holding her hair at the nape of her neck, gathering her hair in his hand and holding her tight. Then he stepped forward, holding the base of his cock in his other hand. He brought it to her lips.  "Open," he said, and she parted her lips to flick her tongue across the tip of his cock, unable to resist tasting the salty, shining droplet there.  His scent was musk and sea.

Bull tugged sharply at her hair, pulling her back.  With a shake of his head, he looked down at her scoldingly.  "You do exactly as I say and no more."

Melora gave a slight nod despite the way it pulled on her hair, and did no more than he had told her.

He used her hair to guide her head, pushing her down onto his cock, filling her mouth easily with just the end of it, and then rumbled his instructions, "Close your lips around it.  Keep your tongue flat and soft, and keep your neck loose.  You don't move, I move you.  I'm not gonna push you so far down that you gag but it might be a little uncomfortable.  You need to slow down or give your jaw a break, you put your toes together behind you.  And if you need to stop entirely, you're not going to be able to say the watchword, so you can cross one ankle over the other instead."  His voice was soft and slow as he explained, holding her there unmoving with his cock in her mouth.  He paused and added, "And one more thing.  You keep your eyes open, and you look at me."

She couldn't smile with her mouth as full as it was, but she gave a little amused puff of breath through her nose.  How could she resist looking up at him, the view over the planes of his body glorious, getting to watch his reaction?

Bull tightened his grip on her hair and pulled her back almost all the way before easing her back down again.  She kept her eyes on him, delighting in the sight of him, the shift in the landscape of his muscles as he tensed and twitched.  He watched her as she watched him, and the look on his face made her legs feel weak.  Bull's eye gazed down at her, darkly shadowed, his jaw set hard, his expression almost a glare, softened only by the occasional twist of approval at the scarred corner of his mouth.  He had to hold himself back from bucking his hips against her, struggling to resist the urge to fuck her mouth rather than moving her over him.

He used a slow rhythm, so that she rocked on her knees on the footstool, and with each motion back and forth, she felt the rope tight against her skin, the shifts in the tension of it upon her as she moved.  She wondered if this was not more for her benefit than his, so little of him able to fit in her small mouth.  But his thighs trembled with each stroke, and he rolled his eye up toward the ceiling, breaking with her gaze to groan low and deep.  

Oh, Maker, that _sound_ , the knowledge that he was enjoying this… She felt a flush of heat grip her, rippling through her and settling deep in her belly.  He was so beautiful, towering over her, firelight dancing over his skin.  She could not see his face now, only the hard line of his jaw and the tips of his horns over his shoulders.  Her jaw ached, but she could have done this forever just to watch him like this.  She could live a thousand years and never see anything so exquisite as Bull was now.

But he looked down at her again, and pulled her away.  Her mouth popped off the head of his cock with a wet noise, and he kept his grip tight on her hair, grinning at her.  Melora stretched her jaw and bit at her bottom lip, looking up at him with a question in her eyes.

"Mm, that's good.  Very good.  You like doing that?"

"You didn't have to stop me," she said, smirking.

He squeezed the handful of her hair tighter, bright spots of pain sparking along her scalp, and said, "Not an answer.  Try again."

"Of course I like it," she said, and he loosened his grip on her.  "I want to do it again.  Maybe you should untie me, so I can use my hands, too."

Bull gave a shake of his head, releasing her hair and smoothing his hand down over it.  "Not yet.  You're staying like that until _I_ decide to untie you.  Or until you use the watchword."

Melora smiled up at him, shifting against the ropes and sitting back on her heels.  "Then what will you do with me now?"

He looked at her, seeming to consider his options, and then with one hand, he seized the thick knotting of rope behind her back and pulled her up off the footstool and high into the air.  Melora gasped at the feeling of the rope across her chest and shoulders taking her weight.  It was a sudden and rough motion, but then Bull just held her there, giving her time to relax into it, until she hung suspended, still but for her trembling legs.  Blessed Andraste, she felt completely helpless now, utterly at his mercy.

"How's this?" he asked her, raising his eyebrow and grinning, holding her above him so that she was looking down into her face.

She was still too surprised to manage a decent response, and all that came out was a nervous laugh.  Then she licked her lips and said, "Unexpected.  But… it doesn't hurt.  You just like showing off how strong you are, don't you?"

"Strong, _and_ good with rope," he corrected, grinning fiendishly, and then he lifted her up higher, so that she hung over him, and he tipped his face up to flick his tongue over one of her nipples.  Melora squealed and kicked her feet, but Bull just held her there, letting her struggle.  "Look at you.  Sweet, juicy little peach, ripe for the _plucking_."

He lingered on the last word so much that Melora could not help but give a small snort, and she said, "Really?  Puns?   _Now?_ "

Bull looked genuinely offended.  "Bah!  There is no bad time for puns!"

"I'm sure I can think of at least five--aah!"  He cut her off, closing his mouth over her breast, sucking at her with a lurid, wet sound that made her crack up in spite of herself, even as she felt her own arousal building between her dangling legs.

He moved from one side to the other, sucking his tits into his mouth in turn, popping off each time with a hollow, damp noise and exaggerated sounds of enjoyment until she protested and kicked at him, laughing.  The effort of it made the bindings feel tighter around her, and she forced herself to control her breathing, even as she gave him a wry smirk and tried to pinch at him with her toes.  His damned mouth, as ridiculous as he was, drove her mad, his tongue swirling around the taut bud of her nipples, the sensation sparking through her and stilling her protests.

Bull gave the underside of her left breast a sharp, quick bite and then grinned up at her.  

"Bastard!" she said, kicking at him, and he caught hold of her ankle with his free hand, nipping at her inner thigh.

"You tend to squirm away, you know," he said, his voice a low purr on her skin, and he kissed the side of her knee, glancing up at her.  "When I've got my mouth on you."

"It's… very intense.  Good, but… intense."

"Well," he said, kissing his way up her inner thigh, his lips soft and his chin rough, "You can't get away now, can you?"

Melora swallowed hard, and ceased her struggles.  "What are you going to do?"

"Whatever I want."  He carried her across the room, over to the empty stretch of wall opposite the stairs, and as he held her in front of him, Bull said, "Put your legs over my shoulders."

She lifted one foot, then the other to slide over the thick slopes of his shoulders.  The ropes across her chest were starting to bite into her skin, aching from taking her full weight, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she felt them slacken again.  Bull smirked up at her from between her thighs, and then turned, pushing her back up against the wall.  The stone was cold and rough on her skin, and she drew a sharp breath between her teeth.  Her arms were pressed up against her lower back, fingertips on chill stone.  Her weight on Bull's shoulders and supported by the wall, he let go of the knotting behind her and slid his hand over her, flicking his fingertips over the ropes as if he could play her like a lute.  The cool stone and his hot breath on her thighs were a delicious contrast, and she tipped her head back, whimpering with anticipation.

"Look at me," Bull demanded.

Melora did as she was told, turning her eyes back to him, biting at her bottom lip.  The look on his face was wicked, a carnal smile full of promise, an interplay of shadows over his features, pooled darkness around his eye, golden light glinting off the embossed metal patch.

"You're trembling," he said.

Melora could only nod.

He chuckled softly, smirking up at her.  "I'll have you shaking soon."

He gave her no time to reply before he dipped his head between her thighs, his tongue flicking light against her at first, making her gasp.  But soon his touch was not so gentle, stroking over her with the flat of his tongue, pressing her hard against the wall.  His fingers gripped her thighs tight, digging into her flesh, holding her fast.  Melora watched as Bull closed his eye, lapping eagerly at her, her wetness shining on his lips, and he made a low sound, a pleasant rumbling that spread through her with a fresh rush of heat.  

She wished she could touch him, to grip his horns or slip her hand over the warm, velvety texture of his shorn hair, but was unable to do anything but lean back against the wall and let him have his way with her.  She watched him for as long as she could, but the sensation was overwhelming, and she closed her eyes, crying out as pleasant tension gripped her and crashed over her.

But he wasn't done with her yet, and he held her tight and continued, not allowing her even a moment's rest, to catch her breath, to relax.  Her thoughts reeled, wordless, everything forgotten, everything irrelevant but for this moment, a searing hot ache welling up through her.  She came again, and again.  The waves she rode had no trough, only crest, surging her higher and higher until she was lost, her consciousness only a shimmering point of white-hot light in a shifting obsidian sea.  She was not aware of the sounds she made, cries echoing off the stone walls and high ceiling, gasping caught in her throat, nor did she see how the fire in the hearth leapt and danced in time with her heartbeat.  Melora squeezed her eyes shut tight, arched with the back of her head on the wall, taut as a drawn bow.  To struggle would be futile.  To beg for mercy equally so.  

And still Bull continued, until her cries turned low and desperate.  She could take no more, but he did not relent, until she was sure that she was lost forever in that swirling, dark sea, and she could do nothing but slump against the wall as if she were boneless, limp in her sweet defeat.

It was only then that he showed her mercy, and guided her legs from his shoulders, letting her slide into his arms, and she opened her eyes to look up at him, rewarded with the sight of his crooked grin over her.  "I--" She tried to speak, but he shook his head.

"Hush," he said, and he carried her with him across the room, not to the bed but to her desk.  "I'm not done with you yet."

He shoved the stack of books from the corner of the desk and rolled her from his arms, seizing the knotting of rope behind her back.  He lowered her down, and pushed her face-down onto the side of the desk, giving her only a moment to find her footing.  Her legs shook, barely able to hold herself, but he still gripped the rope tight, holding her up.  She could still feel the pulsing inside her cunt, the aftershocks twitching within her, so weak now.  And he did not give her even the slightest rest, for as soon as he had her in position bent over the desk, she felt the smooth, hot tip of his cock parting the wet folds of her.  He did not tease, did not wait, but plunged deep into her in a single motion.  

Melora cried out in sweet agony, her face pressed to the desk.  Bull took her _hard_ , his thighs slapping against hers with the force of each  thrust, his breath a snarl with every inhalation.  The desk was cool and hard beneath her, in perfect contrast to the firm heat of him behind her, and she slid jerkingly back and forth on the polished wood desk, the edge of it biting into the tops of her thighs, pleasure and pain mixing and mingling until she could not tell where one ended and the other began.  He gripped the rope with one hand and held her down with the press of his forearm along her back, twisting the knotted rope in his fist.  Bull brought his mouth to her shoulder, breath fanning hot against her neck through the spread of her loose hair, and growled low, "You like this, don't you?"

"Ye-es!"  Her voice caught as he bucked his hips against her, pressing deeper into her.

He gave a sinister chuckle, pushing her hair back from her neck, though he had to pause to lift a few strands caught along the top edge of curved metal of his patch, skimming his lips up the line of her neck.  "Of course you do.  I can give you _exactly_ what you need."

" _You_ are what I need," she groaned as he filled her again.

"You're so good for me," Bull rasped, flicking his tongue over the curve of her ear.  "Such an obedient little thing you are, so willing to give up all control to me.  You'd let me do whatever I want to you, wouldn't you?"

She could only nod, so overcome with sensation, her cheek against the desk, whimpering.  It was true.  Her body, her life: all of it was in his hands.  He'd tied himself into her strange new life, so entwined now that she could not break free.  She was bound to him as surely as he had her bound now.  But she did not struggle, did not fight, but embraced it wholly, without tension or fear.  At least, no fear of Bull. For as savage as he claimed to be, as rough the low voice in her ear became, there was no lack of control in him.  Every movement, every word, every bite, the way he held her down, all of it calculated and careful.  He knew exactly how hard he could push before she broke.

Bull loosened his grip on the rope, and she felt his fingertips slide down the side of her body, skimming over the lines wrapped around her arms.  He stilled his movements and asked softly, "That was just a nod.  I ask, you answer.  Should we continue?"

Melora swallowed hard, her mouth dry, and flicked her tongue across her lips.  "Yes.  Oh yes."

"Good."  He rocked his hips against her, pressing deep into her with delicious slowness.  "How do you feel?"

"Like I'm floating," she said, her voice soft, dreamy. Melora opened her eyes to glance sidelong up at him, smiling.  "How do _you_ feel?"

Bull chuckled softly and scuffed the rough of his beard along her shoulder.  "Like I've got my cock in a pretty little mage.  So… damned good."  She could hear the smile in his voice, the huff of his breath warm on her ear, the press of his mouth on her skin.

He moved in her again, so deliciously slow, holding her down with only the weight of his body, and pulled her back on the desk, making room between her and its surface for his hand to slip between, and he nudged her legs further apart with his knee.  His fingers parted her, and he stroked lightly up her center in time with the roll of his hips.

Melora's legs shook and she closed her eyes again, whimpering.  "Please," she pleaded.  "I… I need--"

Bull bucked against her, causing her to cry out, and he purred, "I know what you need, _bas-saarebas."_ His hands left her skin, and he pressed close against her, gripping instead the edge of the desk in front of her, his body heavy and hot.  With a shuddering breath, he eased deeper into her, and he groaned, moving against her.  His voice was a rumbling murmur she felt through her back and through her bones.  "You need to give up all control.  Submit completely.  Just give in and let this happen.  Let yourself fall.  I will catch you.  I will _always_ catch you."

Melora's eyes fluttered closed again, and for just an instant, she could see a clear blue sky, and the tattered edge of a dragon's wing.  He would always catch her.  With the softest sigh, she let go in both mind and body, feeling the last remnants of tension dissolving from her.

Bull rumbled with approval.  " _There_ , that's it.  You're doing so good.  So damn good."

He moved so slow, placing a soft kiss on her shoulder blade, nipping at her skin with a sharp scrape of teeth.  Both his hands moved to her hips, gripping her tight.  

The drag of him within her was _exquisite_.  She slid against the desk as he rocked against her, and behind her eyelids, she saw the waves of the ocean, glittering silvery, rushing upon the beach only to withdraw again, and again.  Minutes passed, or hours; she could not say which, lost and adrift, but unafraid.  She hung suspended in the moment of falling, blue sky overhead, forever falling but never reaching the ground, and knowing that she was safe with him.  Dragons could not harm her.  Nothing could harm her.

"Come back," she heard Bull say, and she felt the stroke of his hand across the back of her neck.  "Not too deep, boss.  Stay with me."

Melora drew a deep breath and focused on the sensation of his body on hers, his hands, his thighs, his cock filling her, the rhythm of his hips, and her eyelids fluttered, the blue sky giving way to her firelit room.

"You alright?" he murmured.

Melora swallowed, licking her lips, and nodded, her cheek pressed against the desk.  "Yes," she tried to say, her throat dry, but it came out more a whisper.  

But it was enough of an answer to satisfy him, and with a growl, Bull moved his hands from her hips to the edge of the desk in front of her, his great weight pressing down on her.  And when he thrust into her again, it was not with the slow rhythm of waves upon the shore, but the crash of a storm.  

Melora cried out, going up on tiptoes, but Bull held her down easily, and he didn't even give her a chance to catch her breath before he pulled back and drove into her again, filling her so completely she could not even tense against him.  Relentlessly, he took her then, gripping the edge of the desk so that she could feel the heave of his body with each stroke.  

She clenched her hands into fists behind her back, feeling the ropes biting into her arms, trying to grasp at something, _anything_.  The mark's searing ache flared up her arm, crackling with power.  She forced it back, throwing that part of her mind to the flame burning in the hearth.  She could taste it on her lips, pine and heat, as pain and pleasure flared inside her, twin tongues of purifying flame, burning away everything else.  Fear and doubt, pride and anger, all turned to ash on the wind.  

Bull's rhythm stuttered, and he bit down on her shoulder as he came, snarling against her flesh, his cock pulsing hard within her.  He gave a few more half-thrusts and then stilled, chest heaving as he caught his breath.  He kissed the bite on her skin, the spot sure to bruise, and then drew back from her.

Melora slumped against the desk, her legs wobbling too, before Bull took hold of the ropes and pulled her to her feet.  She didn't know what to expect… but she still let out a soft, startled, " _Oh,"_ when he bent down to kiss her softly, his free hand trailing the line of her neck.  Melora was trembling all over, her skin prickling with a sudden chill.  

Bull drew back to murmur, "You did good, boss.  Real good."  He smiled down at her with pride in his eye.  "Damn.  Look at you.  Hair a mess, eyes blown, lips swollen, cheeks all pink, tied up and bitten and well fucked.  You look… amazing."

Melora ducked her head, smiling against his sweat-slick body, leaning against him, head too fuzzy to formulate a reply.

Bull felt the way she shivered.  "Come on.  Time to take this off," he said, running a finger over the rope across her chest.  "Come sit at the side of the bed."  

He stooped to slip his arms around her, lifting her easily and holding her close to his chest.  The ropes were getting sore, and she couldn't stop trembling. Bull pushed her gently forward to work at the ties behind her back.  She felt the rope slacken, and then his hands moved over her body, lifting each loop from her skin with the same slow, precise care he had used when placing them.  His fingers traced the reddened indentations in her skin where the rope had pressed into her flesh, and she felt the faint brush of his lips over the marks on her shoulder blades, so gentle and tender that her chest clenched, and Melora had to close her eyes.

Last, Bull loosed her arms, and tossed the rope aside onto the floor.  With both hands, he guided her arms from behind her back, stretching her arms, rubbing down the length of them lightly at first, and then more firmly, working back up to her shoulders.  He smoothed his palms over her shoulder blades, pulling back to help her stretch.  Melora groaned at the sensation.  He found the sore spots so well, his huge fingers nimble and strong, taking all the tension from her.  

When she shivered again, he slid his hands down her sides and leaned in close.  "Come on," he murmured.  "Lay down, get comfortable."

Melora gave him an unsteady nod and crawled up to the pillows, sinking into the bed.  Bull tucked the blanket up around her, then leaned over and pushed her hair back from her face. "You just laze right there, alright?" he said softly.

Melora nodded, letting her eyes flicker shut. her heart still raced, beating hard against her ribs, and sparkling light danced on the insides of her eyelids. She felt as though she were floating in the warm, soft bed, listening to the quiet sounds of Bull moving around her room. He was humming to himself, and she smiled.

Bull returned to the bed and lifted the edge of the blanket to crawl in beside her. Melora opened her eyes as he set a tray down atop his legs, crockery clinking, and she gave him curious look.  "You brought snacks?"

"Mmhmm. I've got cheese, bread, chocolate, grapes, and cake. Also some juice and mint tea.  What'll it be?"

"Surprise me?" she said, muffled against the pillow.

"Heh, can do."

A few moments later, he nudged her in the hip with his elbow and held his hand out to her.  "Here, sit up.  You can lean on me."

She pushed herself up to look at his hand.  In his palm sat a round of crusty bread topped with a bit of cake, a tiny piece of chocolate, a sliver of cheese, and a single grape sitting on top.

"You said surprise you," he said innocently, giving her a sidelong glance.

Melora smirked and then dipped her head to take the morsel of nonsense in her mouth, bread crunching as the grape burst between her teeth.  The combination was surprisingly pleasant, the salt of the cheese and the texture of the bread an interesting contrast between the sweet juice of the grape, tart lemon cake, and the rich chocolate.

She settled back to lay against him for a while, eating nibbles of chocolate and cheese from his fingers, sipping at a mug of tea.  There was a quiet then, a peaceful silence.  Bull finished off the chocolate and the cake.  When they were both done, Bull took her empty mug, set the tray aside, and then settled back down beside her.

He leaned in close, tracing a fingertip over the whorls of her ear.  "What do you want to do now?" he asked her.

She turned her face up to look at him, his cheek rough against hers.  "I thought you were the one in charge here."

Bull chuckled, adjusting the pillow up under his horn, leaning against it to prop himself up almost as one might use their elbow.  She gave a pleasant smile at this, reaching out to run her hand over the other horn, its surface irregular and cool beneath her touch.  

"Not unless you want to go again.  Which… well, that's certainly an option.   But you look like you're drifting.  Maybe could do with a rest."

Melora slid her hand to his shoulder, fingernails running lightly over the back of his neck.  "Tell me a story?"

"Like what?  A dirty story?  I know tons of those."

Melora smiled.  "No.  Well, perhaps some other time.  Mm, definitely some other time.  But… no, tell me a story that… from when you were small.  What bedtime stories did you hear growing up?"

"You want to hear that? Why?"  Beneath the blanket, his hand rested on her hip, fingertips splayed over the small of her back.  

Melora felt like she was floating, the bed beneath her dissolving into warm clouds in her imagination.  She had never been quite so comfortable.  She reconsidered refusing the dirty story, but she was too relaxed to move.  "Because I want to understand the soil that has grown the garden of your mind.  And, mm, because I like to hear you talk."

With an amused chuckle, Bull settled down to get more comfortable, shifting his head so that the tip of his horn slipped through the gap between the mattress and the head of the bed.  There was a scraping sound as the tip of his sharp horn met finely polished wood.  Melora didn't seem to notice, her thumb tracing the edge of his earlobe, eyes closing as he began, "I think it'll lose something in the translation, but there's one I remember pretty well.  Uh, let's see."

He moved closer to her, kissing her forehead, and spoke low against her skin.  "A long, long time ago, there was this huge _dragon_ …"

It was only some time later, after he had finished the story, that she said anything more, her voice ever so soft, near sleep as she asked, "Can you tell it in Qunlat too?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, new chapter, finally! I've got the next few mostly done already so it won't be nearly so long before the next update. ];)


	15. Chapter 15

Out of Skyhold, Melora could breathe again. Hours went by when nobody at all would call her Inquisitor, and their usual little group fell into their comfortable rhythm of just usually doing whatever Cassandra suggested. They had only set out that morning, but Melora still felt lighter the further they ventured from Skyhold, making their way through the now-familiar roads winding through the Frostbacks. With the roads repaired, they passed many carts coming the other way, bringing goods to the Inquisition. With her travelling gear on and her cloak pulled up, nobody recognized her. Most of the merchants stared at Bull and paid Melora no mind. That was good, too.

She had expected it would be strange, awkward to return to their old routine with Bull, after… But as soon as they'd lost sight of Skyhold over the ridge, he had strolled up beside her, tugged lightly at her braid, and grinned as he asked her if she was still sore from the night before. He'd asked quietly, so the others wouldn't hear, and she'd elbowed him in the ribs and then nodded, glancing up at him with reddened cheeks. He'd just smiled and started talking about pie crust, and she'd pulled out her knitting, needles clacking softly with her every step, listening with amusement as Bull explained the importance of the temperature of the butter.

They made camp at nightfall, and with fresh-made food still in their packs, they could save their trail rations and had no press to hunt. Cassandra went to fetch water, and Bull began searching for more firewood. Varric set himself up by the fire, humming to himself as he got comfortable. Melora finished laying out the bedrolls and then joined him, laying out a few of the pies they'd brought from Skyhold on a flat stone to warm before sitting down to work a few rounds on her knitting.

They'd camped in a clearing, spindly pine trees rising up around them, frosted with snow and shifting with the wind and firelight, pushing back the cold and the darkness. Deeper into the trees, the forest faded into deep blue-black shadow as night fell.

Varric rummaged in his pack, retrieving a small wooden box from which he removed a small pipe with a long stem. He filled the pipe from the box, then pulled a twig from the fire, puffing until the pipe caught with a glowing orange ember. He flicked the twig away and sat back again, cupping his palm around the pipe. Tendrils of white smoke curled from the corners of his mouth, the smoke sharp with the tang of elfroot, but spicy too, and something sweet as well. Then he nodded to Melora and asked, "So what's that gonna be? Looks too big to be a sock. Well, unless it's a sock for Tiny."

Melora shook her head. "It's the start of a sweater for Cole. This is the first sleeve. See here, this bit's the cuff. I don't know if spirit boys feel the cold, but it's awfully drafty in that tavern, and I'll feel better knowing he's got a nice wooly sweater to wear up in the mountains. I've got this thick wool and bigger needles to use so it goes faster, and I've brought yarn to do another for Ossie, too. I think I'll have both sweaters done by the time we return to Skyhold."

"You have noticed that Skyhold is magically warm, right? I don't think either of your stray kids are gonna catch a cold up there without a sweater made by their Inquisimom."

Melora sniffed with mock indignance, raising her chin and giving him a look from the corner of her eye. "Certainly not, as I already made them both some nice, warm socks and hats."

Varric snorted smoke out his nose, shaking his head. "Right, of course you did."

There was a crunch of footsteps by the edge of the camp, and they both turned to the sound. Bull stepped into the circle of firelight, a huge bundle of wood thrown over one shoulder. He dropped it in a heap off to the side of the fire pit and brushed the bits of bark and leaves from himself before asking, "Whose watch is it?"

"It's mine," Varric said. "Seeker's next. She ought to be back pretty soon with the water. That stream we passed wasn't far."

"Alright. I'm gonna go lay down, catch a bit of sleep before it's my turn," Bull said.

Varric nodded, and Melora leaned over to take one of the pies from the stone by the fire, warm in her hand. "Here," she said, holding it out toward Bull. "Sleep is better with pie first."

Bull gave her a delighted grin, walking over to take the pie from her. "Yeah, it is. Thanks. You should get some rest, too."

"Soon. I want to finish this round."

Bull nodded, biting into the pie and hmming happily as he made his way off to the tent. His bedroll was still laid out beside hers, a necessity when she'd required his help getting around after Haven, but everyone had grown accustomed to the arrangement and continued out of habit, even Cassandra and Varric.

After Bull had gone, crawling into the tent, there was a quiet, with only the sounds of the forest, the crackle of the fire, and the click of Melora's needles, until Varric asked very quietly, "So, you and Tiny, eh?"

"What?!" Melora spluttered, half a dozen stitches sliding off her needle. _"Shit._ Did he tell you?!"

Varric laughed, shaking his head. "He didn't… but you just did."

"Dammit, Varric. What gave it away?" She twisted and leaned toward the fire, trying to see to fix the dropped stitches.

"You did." Varric settled back, puffing at his pipe and regarding her with a little smile. "I've been traveling with you for months now, since just after the whole Conclave business. I was there when we met Bull on the beach, and all the time since. And I've seen the way you look at him. No, that's not right. You don't look, you _stare_. And before, you'd have this frown on your face, like just being around him gave you a headache. But now… you're just all smiles and sidelong glances. You're not frowning at him anymore. Either you've been getting flirting tips from someone, or you actually got what you were wanting and finally stopped driving yourself nuts about it." 

Melora huffed a sigh, keeping her voice low. "Don't say anything, please. Not to Bull or anyone."

"What's to say? So you two had a little fun. Well. One little fun and one really big one, I guess." Varric snickered at himself and sucked another sip of smoke from his pipe, then shrugged. "You and half the Inquisition. But I'm not one to judge."

"Yeaaah…" Melora trailed off, pressing her lips together, fixing the last dropped stitch.

Varric sat up a little straighter, leaning forward. "Wait, it was just a little fun, right? You're not, uh…?" He made a little motion with his two index fingers, wiggling them next to each other with the pipe in the corner of his mouth.

"I'm not sure what _that_ means," she said, sticking out her own two fingers and wiggling them over her knitting.

"You know…" He wiggled his fingers again, as if that clarified.

"Sword fighting?"

Varric scoffed. "You two, uh, penning a serial rather than a one-off? Maybe something shelved in the romance section?"

"That's… a way of putting it. I don't know if it's correct, but it's certainly…" Melora shook her head, frowning. "Call it a work in progress, as I haven't a better label for it. So the last thing we need is a certain nosy dwarf elbowing us about it."

"Hey, contrary to all evidence, I know when to keep my mouth shut. I'm just surprised is all. Didn't think he went for that kind of thing."

 _"Thanks."_   She glared at him.

Varric chuckled. "Nah, I didn't mean _you._ I just thought he was more of a once and done kinda guy."

Melora glanced back toward the tent where Bull lay, and she gave a little shrug. "So did I," she said, looking back down at her knitting. "Apparently not this time."

Varric went quiet then, puffing on his pipe and looking into the fire. When he finally spoke, there was ice in his voice. She'd only ever heard him so grim when he was talking about red lyrium. "You just… be careful, alright? I know he likes a drink and a laugh, and I'd imagine he's a lot of fun to, ahh, share a tent with, but he's still a qunari. _Ben-Hassrath._ Just because the spy tells you what he is doesn't mean he stops being a spy."

Melora gave Varric a sidelong look and then turned her eyes back to the cable she was working on the sweater sleeve. "I already have four older sisters. I don't need another one."

"I know you can handle yourself, but everyone seems to expect you to know how to deal with it all on your own when you're really… What are you, like seventeen? Nineteen?"

"Twenty-three."

"Really? Well, that's still damned young. Look, I know you're from Ostwick. You've heard the stories as well as anyone. Your family probably helped fund those big double walls after the qunari landed there. Got a plaque somewhere with the Trevelyan name on it. But I was _in_ Kirkwall when the Arishok was there, and I saw first-hand what happened when people get in the way of what the Qun demands. Bull seems nice enough, but I don't know if there's any room for romance in the head of a qunari, even if that head's so wide it can't fit through doorways without turning sideways."

Melora blinked at him. "Just what are you suggesting?"

Varric waved a hand as if to dispel the thought along with the smoke clouded around his head. "I should probably keep my nose out of it. Just asking for trouble. But with all I've seen of the qunari, I've not once seen any of them holding hands or writing love poems. Usually more… killing anyone in their way and setting things on fire."

"Bull isn't like that. Well, I mean, he does like killing things, but I'm usually the one setting things on fire."

"Bull is a _spy_ whose job is to seem like someone and something he's not. Maybe he's genuine, maybe he isn't. Someone with his training, you'd never be able to tell. And I can think of a few other reasons why a qunari spy would be so eager to get close to the Inquisitor."

"Again, thanks _so_ much."

Varric grunted. "You know I don't mean it like that. Even if you weren't Inquisitor, I'm sure you'd have lots of people interested. It's just that… you _are_ the Inquisitor, and maybe some of those people are interested for the wrong reasons. And when you've got one who's come right out and said they're a spy sent to get close to you, it's worth taking that at face value."

"Andraste's ass!" Melora spat, too loud. She scowled, lowering her voice. "You drink and play cards with Bull. You fight alongside him. If you really think so little of him, why do you travel with him?"

"That's the thing. I don't know what to think. I'm fine with standing behind him in a fight because his ass is in danger, too. Plus he blocks pretty much everything, including the sun. Don't get me wrong. I like Bull. I do. But liking someone and travelling with someone is not the same as really getting close to them, letting them into your head. You can trust the qunari just fine… until you can't. And it makes me a little nervous that the Inquisitor seems so eager to trust one who is _definitely a spy._ "

"The Inquisitor doesn't have to. Just me."

Varric rolled his eyes, leaning over his knee to point his pipe at her. "You don't get to pretend it's a hat you can take off when it suits you. As long as you hold that title, as long as you're the only one who can close the rifts, what you do matters. And that includes what you do in your personal life. It sucks, but it's the way it is."

Melora set her teeth together, her face and ears flushing warm. Her hands kept moving at her stitches, working them swiftly, but too tightly, and she bit the inside of her lips to hold back a dozen snarled expletives.

Finally, she spat, "I'll take that under advisement," and jammed her needles into the ball of yarn before standing and stalking off to the tent, muttering those expletives under her breath.

"You don't want one of the pies?" Varric called after her.

"I've lost my appetite," she said without turning, and she crawled through the flap into the tent, scowling.

Bull's form was a hulking shadow beneath his blanket, and she didn't have to wait for him to open his eye to know that he was awake. Even in her soft bed at Skyhold, every time she'd so much as rolled over beside him, he'd awoken. She'd never known anyone to be so light a sleeper.

Her conversation with Varric had been too quiet for Bull to hear, she was certain. But he'd probably heard the end of it.

She toed off her boots by the tent flap, tucked her knitting into one boot, and then settled down beside him, pulling her own blanket over herself.

"Everything alright?" he asked softly.

Melora nodded a bit, curling onto her side with her back to him, but after a moment, she wriggled back to rest against him. She felt a huge, heavy hand settle upon her hip. "Yeah," she said. "Just a disagreement."

"About what?" He shifted, slipping an arm beneath her head to wrap both arms around her.  The ease with which he managed to lay on his side always amazed her, his shoulders so wide that he could simply lean his head against his horn, propped against the ground.

"It's fine. Nothing to worry about." Outside, she could hear Cassandra's voice, back with water, talking to Varric.

"No?" Bull skimmed his hand down her leg, pressing his body closer to hers. "Because you feel tense."

"I'm just not very good with confrontation is all."

Bull rubbed his chin over her shoulder, nuzzling at her cheek. "Maybe I can help?" he murmured, that one hand still tracing over her, his lips soft on her earlobe. "With the tension, at least."

The honeyed tone in his voice suggested he wasn't really thinking along the lines of a shoulder rub. Melora let out a quiet, breathy laugh, shaking her head. "Just what do you intend to do in this tiny tent with very thin, cloth walls?"

Bull's teeth found her jaw, an affectionate bite on soft skin, and his thumb flicked at the top edge of her trousers. "Can you be very, very quiet?"

"You're serious?" She turned to glance at him from the corner of her eye. He was just a faint silhouette in the darkness, black on almost-black.

Bull nipped at her shoulder, fingers brushing her thighs, and Melora couldn't help but wriggle against him, biting at her bottom lip. He trailed a fingertip up the center of her. "You can't make a sound."

"I don't think I can be _entirely_ silent," she said, tilting her head back against his shoulder, exposing her neck to him.

Bull closed his mouth over her skin, teeth sharp, drawing a gasping whimper from her lips. "Nothing louder than a whisper." His words, warm with breath, soothed bitten skin, ending with a kiss, and his fingers loosened the laces on her trousers.

"What about you?" she asked.

"Well, I guess I could sing…"

Melora snorted, nudging him. "You know what I mean. Doesn't seem very fair that I'm the only one enjoying this."

Bull's fingers slipped beneath the edge of her trousers and under her smalls. "If you think you're the only one enjoying this," he said, his voice a deep rumble that she felt through her whole body. "Then you haven't been paying attention."

She gasped softly at his touch, sinking back against him. His lips brushed close to her ear, murmuring soft words of praise, and then, delicious filth. Melora whimpered, and Bull hushed her gently. He dipped a finger into her, pressing his hips close to hers, and she could feel him, hard and hot against her. His desire fanned the fires of her own, and even as her limbs relaxed, she felt a tension rising deep within her, twisting in the depths of her, burning brighter and brighter.

And when he drew her to her peak, she arched and a soft cry escaped her lips. Bull pressed his other hand over her mouth, muffling the sound, but his fingers still moved against her, unrelenting. Melora sucked in a breath through her nose, shaking against him, writhing but held tight with his arms around her. His palm felt like warm leather on her skin, pressing firmly over her mouth, holding back her cries when she could not.

Only when she was sure she could take no more did he stop, his palm leaving her mouth, and Melora inhaled deep and shuddering. Bull withdrew his hand from her trousers, bringing his fingers to his lips, sucking her wetness from them.

Melora leaned against him, catching her breath, and then turned her face toward him, asking softly, "Was I too loud?"

Bull made a low noise like a chuckle. "Almost. You just couldn't help it. But I don't think anyone heard."

Melora grinned in the darkness, and Bull rolled onto his back, pulling her along with him. She giggled, stretching out atop him and pressing a kiss to his chin, his beard scratchy on her lips.

His erection still poked firm against her belly. Melora wriggled deliberately and said, "You know, this tent may be too small for you to be on top without putting a couple new holes in the ceiling, but…"

Bull's body shook beneath her with a soft laugh, and he pulled her to him for a kiss. "But..." he said, adding another little kiss on the end of her nose, "It's also real thin, and I don't think we could stay _that_ quiet. Sex makes more noise than just moans and gasps. There's squishy, slappy sort of noises."

She smirked despite her pout, running her hands over him. "You're probably right. But you're still all…"

"Hard? Sure, but that'll go away soon."

"That _hardly_ seems fair…"

Bull chuckled, wrapping his arms around her, kissing her again, lingering and deep. "I get at least as much out of getting you off as you do," he said, running her braid through his fingers. "And when we're somewhere more private, I'll get my turn, trust me."

Melora lay her head against him, curling her fingers against his collarbone, tracing the lines of him. These contours were becoming familiar, known to her fingers and her lips… The little ridge of scar just _there_ and the divot over _here_. A map of them grew in her mind. He was taking up more and more space there, filling whole volumes in her head. Yet it was so easy, so comfortable, she welcomed him in gladly.

"You are… very strange, the Iron Bull," Melora said softly, a smile in her voice.

"You're just noticing?"

She turned her face to kiss at his skin. "No… just… still strikes me now and then. In a good way, I mean. Never been with a man who cared more for my pleasure than his own. This is… different. Confusing… but good."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," he said, stroking lightly over the small of her back. "Time to sleep, boss."

She slipped off him to curl at his side, his arms still wrapped around her. "Mm, g'night, Bull," she murmured, letting out a long, relaxed breath.

But sleep did not take her immediately, and as she drifted with Bull pressed close against her, her mind wandered. Her arm beneath her was tucked up so that her hand was close to her face, fingers enfolding the glow of her mark. She stared into the slash across her palm, into the depths of the sparking green abyss that dwelt there.

Bull was solid and warm, his arms around her a reassuring weight. She could hear his breathing slowing as he drifted toward sleep. Melora knew that if she stayed very still, didn't shift or change her breathing too much, she would not wake him. Any disturbance and he would stir immediately. So she stayed still and quiet, listening to the sound of his breathing and the occasional faint gurgle from his belly, and outside, the crackle of the fire and the hushed voices of Cassandra and Varric still talking, too low to make out the words.

Maker, it felt so _good_ just to have Bull wrapped around her this way, to feel how his body slowly relaxed around her, his arms feeling heavier each time he exhaled. In his sleep, Bull pulled her closer, his hand splayed across her back, drawing her to him. Melora closed her eyes, pressing closer to him, too, warm and comfortable in his embrace.

The sound of Varric's voice outside the tent brought back the conversation by the fire, and Melora frowned. How could this be wrong when it felt so good? And why did she still feel uneasy, a coal of doubt festering in her belly? It should have been easy to dismiss it all as Varric's over-active imagination. So why was she still thinking of it?

When Bull shifted again, Melora took the opportunity to turn in his embrace, draping her arm over his neck, laying her head on his chest to listen to his heartbeat. He stirred for a moment but then his hand settled on her hip, squeezing affectionately, before his breathing slowed again.

Varric was wrong. She was sure of it. Any other option was unthinkable.

Yet she could not shake his words from her thoughts even as she drifted to the Fade, her dreams fearful and troubled.

_Just because the spy tells you what he is doesn't mean he stops being a spy._


	16. Chapter 16

Melora should have been asleep. They'd spent the past three days fighting bandits and wolves, trying to secure the sites for the watchtowers in the Hinterlands, and they were all road-weary and needing a good night's rest. But the night was cool and clear, a light rain just before nightfall leaving everything smelling of earth and pine, before the clouds had given way to starry skies and no need for tents. 

Melora could not bear to waste the night on sleep. So she had crawled out of her bedroll and gone to the bushes to pee, and instead of heading back to lay besides the fading fire with Cassandra and Varric, she headed up to the top of the stone outcropping against which their camp lay.

One time, when Bull had been on watch, Melora had come up behind him too quietly. She was so used to stepping lightly and soundlessly that she didn't realize she had been sneaking up on him until he'd drawn his axe on her the moment he heard the first crack of a twig behind him. She always made a deliberate effort to make some kind of noise when she approached him after that, shuffling her feet in the leaves or humming to herself.

"Hey, Bull," she said softly as she joined him on the ridge, looking out at the view looked over the camp's surroundings as well as the valley behind them.

Bull looked over and gave her a smile. "Hey." 

Melora came up close beside him, and she looked out at the shadowed valley with him, faintly illuminated by the rising moon. Everything gleamed silver, still damp from the rain. 

Neither of them spoke then, their closeness comfortable, familiar now.

"So, uh," Bull said after a time, half turning to look down at her. "Can I ask you something?"

Melora tilted her head to look up at him, smiling. "Yes?"

"You remember that first time, with the two of us?"

"Vaguely, sure," she replied with a smirk.

Bull snorted. "You, uh… You called me beautiful then. You remember _that?_ "

"Yes."

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, scratching at the base of one of his horns. "Been thinking about that. You know, there are a lot of ways to describe me. Glorious. Colossal. Ripped. I'm even good with 'monstrous' as long as whoever's saying it sounds really awestruck or aroused. But 'beautiful'? You must have some _really_ bad eyesight."

Melora turned to look up at his face in the moonlight. He was almost all in shadow, painted with thin strokes of silver moonlight describing his form. Slivers of light traced the edges of his horns, the line of his nose, the slope of his shoulder, the embossed design on the patch covering his ruined eye.

She slipped her hand into his, squeezing at his thick fingers. She'd said that weeks before. Had he been thinking of it all this time?

"I didn't mean beautiful like a flower or a woman. I meant…" She paused, frowning as she thought, trying to gather the right words. Bull looked down at her, his hand warm around hers, watching silent and patient as she chewed at her lips.

When Melora spoke again, the words came slow. "I watch you in battle sometimes. When we're in a fight that's almost done, and we're down to the last one and you've got it handled, I mean. I can step back and just observe while you finish it. And it's like…"

She stopped again, mouth twisting as she thought. "I don't know how else to explain it, but, just… When I was young… very young, before I went to the Circle, my family went to Starkhaven one year for Satinalia. Starkhaven is right on the Minanter River, and we stayed at a house high on a hill overlooking the river. The winter was very wet, and it rained the whole way there. We had to keep stopping, waiting for the servants to dig the coach out of the mud. So by the time we got there, the Minanter was swollen to bursting. It was overflowing its banks, flooding low lying farmlands, washing out bridges… I remember going out to the balcony one day, just before sundown, watching as the river knocked down a stand of old pine trees like they were just twigs, and carried off carts and even a whole barn. It was terrifying, and awesome. But there was also a strange beauty to it, to see that much power in one place, to see something capable of such destruction."

Melora drew a deep breath through her nose, lifting Bull's hand with hers to kiss at his knuckles, his skin rough with callouses and scars. Bull watched her silently as she continued, "That's the sort of beauty you have. You have a terrible, devastating power, like a force of nature. But that river was uncontrolled, wild. You direct your power with forethought and skill. I can stand at your side in a fight, and know that I'm safer there than anywhere else in the world. I know I can dive into the flood waters, and that they will carry me safely."

When she'd finished, Bull was quiet, a stony silhouette against the star-filled night. He didn't move, staring out at the valley. His scarred, craggy face was unreadable in the moonlight, and when he did not speak, Melora squeezed at his fingers, worried she'd misspoken.

Finally, Bull said, very slowly and carefully, "So… what you're saying is… Like a river, I make you really, _really_ wet."

Melora burst out laughing, and quickly clapped her hand over her mouth. She shot Bull a glare. "I was _trying_ to have a moment there, you ass!" She snorted through her fingers, then elbowed him in the ribs.

Bull chuckled, and then pulled her close, draping his huge hand over her shoulder, hugging her to his side. Melora wrapped an arm around his waist, hooking her thumb into the top edge of his belt. She leaned her head against him, and together, they watched the shifting patches of moonlight drift across the valley, shadowed by thin clouds moving across the glittering sky. There was a peace between them, the silence comfortable.

It was only after a while that Melora noticed how tightly Bull still held her to his side, and how his tense fingers still clutched at her shoulder.


	17. Chapter 17

With three excellent locations for watchtowers in the Hinterlands secured, the Inquisition would finally be able to field a much better guard of the area. It would take time for them to get the crews in and to erect the stone towers, but soon, this area would be safe enough for the rest of the farmers to return to their fields, to see the orchards tended, barns rebuilt, and herds protected again to multiply in the spring.

But for now, the Hinterlands did not bloom. Most of the farmhouses dotting the land had been abandoned, some burnt to crumbling piles of charred timber. The brown, muddy fields held few crops, most of their produce stolen or eaten by animals after the farmers had fled. Grey clouds moved overhead, casting everything in a thin, pale light that never seemed to quite get bright, even at midday.

Still, the air was clear, no longer choked with smoke from burning homes and barns. They encountered no more skirmishes between mages and Templars, and a strange stillness stretched across the cold, craggy landscape. They barely had cause to draw their blades, mostly in defense from the wild beasts here, ending the lives of a few foolish, hungry wolves who tried to make a meal of the Inquisitor and companions. Once or twice, the sky would brighten for a moment, a beam of sunlight piercing the clouds, glittering across the wet grass, before the clouds would close in again and the grey would return. They even saw a few farmers at one of the farms that had been abandoned the last time they had been through here, mending fences with green wood to hold back a few lonely sheep.

But despite their mission being complete, the Inquisitor's boots trod heavily over the sodden ground. This was the third time they'd been back here, and it would likely not be the last.

They turned west then, heading toward the well-trod road that led past the southern end of Lake Calenhad, then north. The road branched off to the Frostbacks, and eventually, it led to Skyhold. If they made good time, they could be sleeping under a roof in about a week, resting in proper beds up off the ground, their bellies full of a hot, freshly-cooked meal and probably a drink or three as well. The Inquisition camps did their best to accommodate the Inquisitor and her companions, but there was nothing like your own bed in your own room, surrounded by your own things, something Melora had only recently gotten used to the idea of.

Even just beginning the journey back seemed to lift their spirits, and as they passed the road marker pointing towards the west, Melora took out her knitting, cleared her throat, and began to sing, " _Now gather, all young ones, and hear what I say, for good girls and good boys know when to keep mum. For silent politeness is simply the way, and always be thinking of this rule of thumb…"_

Varric groaned aloud, pressing his palm to his forehead. "Oh, no."

"Oh, yes, you know the words. Sing it, Tethras!" Melora demanded, laughing, her pack rattling as she hopped along the road from foot to foot.

Cassandra snorted behind her hand, shaking her head, as Varric heaved a defeated sigh. "Eaten, eaten, eaten," he recited tunelessly. "Bad children all get eaten."

Melora jumped in, singing merrily, " _Boiled or toasted, broiled or roasted. Eaten, eaten, eaten!"_ She hopped over a gnarled root in the road, bouncing along to the stupid old song without dropping a single stitch.

Bull looked down at Melora with an amused, if somewhat baffled smile, and Cassandra just laughed, having spent enough time in the Free Marches to hear this old song more than once.

"Come on, Cassandra, you can sing, can't you? _And always give credence to elders and lords. Respect all their titles and--"_ Melora started in on the next verse, but she stopped again, hearing the rhythmic slap of footfalls fast approaching. She and the others turned to see an Inquisition scout running up the west road behind them, kicking up clods of dirt as he raced toward them.

When he reached their group, he stopped, hunching over his knees. He tried to speak, but instead drew a gulping gasp of air.

"Take a moment," Melora said. "Catch your breath."

The scout nodded, swiping the sweat from his eyes with his already-sodden sleeve. Once his chest had stopped heaving, he licked his lips, swallowed, and then said, "Nobody told you before you started back, someone's gonna have a strip torn off for that. Not me. Uh. Sorry. Message for you, ser," He reached into his pocket and pulled out a rolled note.

Melora took it and unrolled it, but before she could read it, the scout leaned over her shoulder, pointed at the text, and said, "There's bandits on the east road. New ones, just moved in. These are some nasty buggers, not content with just shaking a few coins out of the pockets of travelers. You give these everything you have and you're still lucky to make it out walking home in your smalls. They'd just as soon kill you and pick over your things at their leisure."

"We've been here for days. Why is this the first we're hearing about it?" Melora demanded.

"Said that already. Nobody told you, someone dropped the ball. Wasn't me. Probably Marwin. Bit of a twit, him." The scout bobbed his head, nodding vigorously.

Melora gathered her knitting up and stuffed it back into her pack. "Right. Well. Lovely. More bandits, everyone!" Her shoulders slumped as she looked down the road, back the way they'd came, thinking of the thousands more steps along that road it would take before they were done.

In unison, Bull and Varric gave a sarcastic, "Yay," and Cassandra grumbled to herself as the four of them turned back toward the Hinterlands, resigned to at least another day here.

~*~

Two bears, three wolves, and one unfortunate nug caught in a fire spell later, the four of them made it to the Crossroads unscathed. To the north lay Redcliffe, and to the east, they would find their bandits. The clouds above had darkened as the day went on, a roiling blanket blocking out the sun and making everything feel cold and desolate, the wind pulling at them with chill fingers.

Melora clutched her scarf closer around her throat just as a fat raindrop hit her between the eyes.

"Great," Varric said, looking up at the sky with a scowl, two more raindrops plopping onto his forehead and cheek. He rubbed at his face with the back of his hand and tugged his collar up around his ears.

Melora gave him what she hoped was a bright smile and said, "Well, now that we're here, we can stop at the market. Look, they've even got proper stalls now! And there's so many more of them."

Indeed, a small but growing market had sprung up around the crossroads, wooden stalls with makeshift awnings flapping in the increasing breeze, the light rain pattering against the rough canvas. Squashes, turnips, cabbages, and apples sat in barrels and baskets and crates at the handful of stalls. One had chickens in little woven cages, another with a goat tethered to a stake. The goat was thin, and many of the offerings meager, but they _did_ have a market where none had been before.

Standing beside Melora, Bull looked down at her with a lopsided smirk. "You should see the look on your face," he said. "You get all sparkly-eyed whenever you see a market, even if it's as crappy as this one. It's cute."

Melora snorted and shook her head at him. "Cute? Pah!"

"Why do you get so excited over turnips anyway?" Bull asked.

She shrugged, walking with him past the little stalls, looking at the various things for sale. The stall with the goat also had a selection of mostly-rusted hand-tools and a few dozen fresh eggs for sale, as well as a few moth-eaten blankets. People seemed to be willing to trade or sell anything of use, bringing whatever they had to get the things they lacked. 

"I'd never been to a market before a few months ago," Melora said. "They don't have them in the Circle, and all of our food was delivered straight to the kitchens by a man with a cart when I was living with my family. Anything else… clothing or such, someone would come to the house with fabric swatches and a measuring tape. It was just a thing in quaint paintings. Or books. Perhaps seen from a distance out the window of a bouncing cart. But look!"

Melora stopped at a stall, selected a large red and gold apple from a basket on the table, and pulled a coin from her purse and placed it in the palm of the man who ran the stall. She ducked her head as she thanked him with a smile.

Then she turned back to Bull, shined her apple on her sleeve, and bit into it. It was cold and tart and lovely. She chewed, swallowed, and said, "I can buy an apple if I want one! I've got money, and if I want a thing, I can have a thing."

She took another bite of her apple as Bull chuckled and said, "Y'know, I had kinda the same feeling when I went to Seheron. I'd seen markets before, but in the Qun they're more like… distribution centers. You don't buy stuff, you go pick up your ration. But Seheron, you could buy a piece of fruit, or go to any one of a bunch of different stalls selling hot food they'd make right there for you, and choose what you wanted to have for lunch. That was… new."

"And a bit scary, right? So many choices, and so many new people to have to talk to."

Bull laughed. "Nah. I like talking to people. People are easy. So's choosing lunch. Just go wherever makes your stomach rumble the most."

Melora smiled, nodding as she chewed. She swallowed and started to say something, but then stopped. Varric and Cassandra, who had been walking along and chatting in front of Melora and Bull, came to an abrupt stop, forcing Melora and Bull to stop too. 

An older woman with a kerchief tied over her curly hair stepped up to Varric and Cassandra, smiling nervously. "Pardon me?" said the woman. In her hands she clutched a wicker basket covered with a cloth.

"Yes?" Cassandra said.

"Begging your pardon, but you're the one they're calling Inquisitor, aren't you?" the woman asked, smiling up at Cassandra.

Cassandra, tall and glorious in her gleaming plate armor, arched one eyebrow, blinked and then glanced back over her shoulder as she stepped aside. "No," she replied, and she nodded to Melora, "She is." 

Melora, who had been completely hidden behind Cassandra's much larger frame, had just taken a slightly-too-large bite of her apple, her mouth completely full. And suddenly, all eyes were on her. Melora's own eyes went wide, and she tried to quickly swallow, but the bite was too large, and she began to splutter and cough. Bull gave her a slap on the back, dislodging the bit of apple she'd inhaled, sending her stumbling a few steps forward, jostling Cassandra.

"Shit, sorry," Melora croaked at Cassandra,, and Varric snorted a laugh into his palm. Melora shot him a glare as she straightened, rubbing little bits of apple from her hand off onto her trousers.

The woman looked at Melora, and then looked at Cassandra, then back to Melora. "Oh," she said, and the disappointment in her voice was obvious. "I see. I'd heard the Inquisitor was a woman. I just thought..."

Melora swiped at the back of her mouth with her sleeve and tried to put on a cheerful smile. "Hello, yes, um. I'm the Inquisitor… Can I, um, can I help you?"

Still snickering, Varric pulled Cassandra off with him, his fingertips brushing at the small of Cassandra's back as they headed off in the direction of a stall selling fresh bread. Melora watched them go, noticing that brief little touch, and she couldn't help but grin, despite how much she wanted to smack Varric right now.

The woman tucked a lock of greying hair behind her ear and smiled again. "I was so hoping you'd come through here," the woman said, a tremble in her voice. "We heard you were in the area, but weren't sure whether you would come this way. In any case, I-- I just wanted to thank you, for all the Inquisition has done here. It's getting to be safe here again. Not safe enough to let your cat out at night, mind, but… safer. My neighbors and I, we all got together and put a little something in here, for you and your… associates." 

The woman held the basket out to Melora with shaky hands.

Melora stood up a little straighter. "Oh. Oh well that's… that's so kind. Um. But I don't think I should--"

Bull casually rested a hand on Melora's shoulder and gave her a quick, sharp poke with one finger. The gesture was subtle, and to the woman holding the basket, it seemed perhaps a relaxed, if oddly familiar and affectionate gesture for the huge, scarred Qunari bodyguard to be making toward the Inquisitor… such as she was.

Melora glanced at Bull out of the corner of her eye. "I mean, um… thank you so much. That's very kind of you. Please, let me pay you for--" She said, but again, Bull pressed that one finger into her shoulder. A flicker of a frown passed over Melora's face, and she smiled nervously before finishing with, "This is a lovely gift? And is, umm… Much appreciated. My thanks."

The woman beamed a smile and said, "You are _most_ welcome. Andraste guide you, Inquisitor," before hurrying off back the way she'd came.

When she'd gone, Melora looked down at the basket, pulling up the edge of the cloth to look inside. They'd been given a round loaf of dark bread, a pot of what was likely jam, a small wheel of cheese, half a dozen boiled eggs, and a little wooden box labelled 'tea'.

Melora looked up at Bull, frowning. "What was that? So many of the people here have so little, and I've got so much money I don't know what to do with it all. It seems wrong to take their food without paying."

"Only when you think of it only from your perspective," he said. "She said her neighbors and her got together to give you that. So she, or someone, went around with a basket and said 'I'm putting together a basket for the Inquisitor' and everyone put in something. That took time and thought. And then she had to get up the courage to come talk to you. She wanted to feel like she was helping. She and those neighbors wanted to be able to tell people that they'd given the Inquisitor a loaf of bread they baked with their own two hands, and that her response was kind thanks. They want to feel like they're helping in their own small way. If you pay them, it's not the story of the time they helped the Inquisitor, but the time they happened to sell her something. They wouldn't give what they can't spare, and they can spare a little, thanks to the Inquisition."

"Oh," Melora said, looking down at the basket. "I see. Thank you. I'd just be blundering about if it weren't for you, wouldn't I?"

"Nah," Bull said, flashing her a bright smile. "You'd just have to rely on your own people skills to get you through. Or worse, Cassandra's."

"Maker forbid!" Melora laughed, and she hooked the handle of the basket over the crook of her elbow so she could finish her apple, taking smaller bites and chewing a bit more carefully than before. She wished she'd bought a whole bag of apples, but contented herself with nibbling at the one she had until it was a skinny, bare core.

"'Course, that's not to say that people won't try to grift you. You're famous, and wealthy. That makes you a target in a different way. Like that guy back there letting you pay him a whole silver for that one apple."

Melora looked down at the apple core in her fingers and shrugged. "I can't blame him for that. Nor do I mind terribly. I've got enough coins in my purse I won't be hurting if I'm less two instead of one, if it ends up in the purse of someone with none."

She tossed the core off into the trees, and then she reached into the basket and pulled out the little ceramic pot of jam. It was sealed only with a cork, fresh-made and wouldn't keep long. Certainly wouldn't, with her sweet tooth. She removed the cork and dipped a finger inside and was about to bring it to her lips when Bull grabbed her wrist and said sharply, "Stop."

Melora stared up at him in complete confusion, her sticky finger close to her lips. "What?"

He released her and shrugged. "Sorry, just… you can't eat that."

"What else am I supposed to do with it?! You made me accept it!"

"Yeah. For good reason. And you're not gonna eat it for another good reason."

"Which is?" Melora asked, replacing the stopper on the pot and sticking it back in the basket. She wiped her finger off on the cloth covering the basket.

"Because that was something given to the _Inquisitor_. And while that woman seemed alright, she was also a little nervous. Maybe just from talking to the Inquisitor, maybe not. And not all of that stuff came from her anyway. Who knows who her neighbors are."

"What, you think they might have spit in it?"

"I think it's at least a possibility that there's worse than spit in something in that basket."

"... you think someone shit in the bread?"

"I'm talking about poison, boss."

Melora stopped in her tracks, staring up at him in disbelief. " _Poison?!_ " she gasped, looking down at the basket. "You can't be serious!"

Bull shrugged. "It's not very likely, but it is possible."

"Why would anyone want to poison _me?_ "

"I don't know, maybe you could think of some reason, _Inquisitor_ ," he said dryly.

She started walking again, heading for the edge of the Crossroads where Varric and Cassandra were waiting for them. Melora's mouth was still agape. "I never thought… But wait, I had an apple. Couldn't that be poisoned?"

"Not unless someone poisoned all the apples at the market." There was a pause then, a grim set to his jaw that he shook off before continuing. "Stuff you pick out yourself or watch being made, or you've seen other people eat without keeling over, that's fine. But someone you don't know gives you something, _anything_ , not even food, you need to be real careful. A pretty piece of jewelry can conceal a sharp edge, dipped in poison. And there's even liquid poisons you can soak cloth in, let 'em dry, and then wrap up that fancy poisoned dress or whatever real pretty to give to your enemy. They wear it, get a little sweaty, poison gets activated, dead within hours."

Melora looked at the cloth covering the basket, now smeared with a bit of jam. The cloth was old and a bit stained, though clean but for the jam, with a fraying hole around one faded, embroidered edge. She eyed the basket, too, greyed old wicker with small, sharp ends poking out here and there. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. Seriously."

Melora shook her head slowly. "It's still baffling that anyone would want to assassinate _me_. I'm just…" She gestured at herself with one hand. "Me! How can I be someone who is a target for assassins?"

"Yeah, well, _you_ are the Inquisitor, and that makes you a target."

"But we're trying to help!"

"Sure you are. But you're also gaining a lot of power. You've got armies. You hold territory. You've got a magical fortress in the mountains and a purse jingling with coin. And you've got enemies. So you gotta be careful, and not eat strange jam."

"It smelled like strawberries," Melora pouted.

They caught up with Varric and Cassandra at the edge of the Crossroads. Varric had bought some bread, and he was chatting together with Cassandra, sharing a hunk of bread together as they waited for Bull and Melora. Melora couldn't help but notice how close the two of them were standing to one another, and the way Cassandra smiled down at Varric with only a hint of her usual pricklyness.

"Ready to go, _Inquisitor?_ " Varric asked Cassandra, grinning.

Cassandra rolled her eyes at him but there was a smirk at the corner of her mouth.

They left the Crossroads and headed toward the east road, the rain continuing as a constant drizzle. There was no sunset. The light just began to fade almost imperceptibly, all of the contrast slowly seeping out of the early evening. They stuck to the sides of the road, the wheel ruts soft with mud that sucked at their boots with every step.

Once they were a good distance away from the Crossroads and sure nobody would see, Bull took the basket from Melora and left the road, walking up into the trees. He stopped, kicked a hole in the leaf litter at the base of one tree, and dropped the basket there, then covered it up again with his boot.

When he returned to the road, Melora gave him a frown, shaking her head. "Still seems a waste," she said. "To take their food so graciously given and then just… throw it away."

"I know. But they're not out any more food whether we eat it or not. Either way those folks back there feel the same warm, fuzzy feeling from having helped the Inquisitor herself."

"Which one is it? Are they warm fuzzy do-gooding villagers, or assassins? They can't be both." 

He shrugged. "Why not? Places like this are easy to infiltrate when there's a lot of people moving around."

"No, that's not what I mean," Melora said. "I mean, either they're assassins posing as villagers, in which case I shouldn't care about their feelings about whether or not I eat their bread. They'll know I didn't eat it because I'm not dead, so it doesn't matter if I take it or not, really, as their good opinion of me is irrelevant, being assassins. _Or…_ They're actually just very nice people who thought they'd put together a basket of tasty things, and they _are_ just tasty things and you just buried perfectly good strawberry jam in a hole in the woods."

"Only takes one of those neighbors being an assassin to get to you. The rest could still be good guys."

"So you assume both are true? You act as if everyone is both enemy and friend?" Melora held out both palms, as if weighing the two options there.

Bull nodded. "Exactly."

Melora looked up at the trees, considering this, and then she shook her head. "You look at everything this way, don't you? You pull it apart and look at all the pieces. Treat every offered hand as if the other might be holding a knife behind their back."

It took him a moment before he answered, "I suppose I do."

"That sounds exhausting."

"Mmm." Bull made a non-committal sound. "Maybe. But it still beats dead any day."

Melora looked up at him, pressing her lips together, studying the planes of his face. "Thanks, Bull," she said quietly.

"For what?"

"For looking out for me. For putting your mind to work for me. Even though it seems like a lifetime ago now, it wasn't that long ago that I was in the Circle. And except for a few visits with my family, I lived behind those walls since I was just a child. All of this, being around so many new people and things and ideas is very strange and overwhelming. It's good to be with someone who isn't quite so inept, and who has… at least in some ways, experienced many of these things as new, too."

Bull smiled down at her, giving her braid a slight, playful little tug. "You're doing fine. Just no more accepting baskets of goodies from kindly little old ladies. You've read fairy tales, haven't you? That's how the mean old witches get you."

"Great, now I don't just have to worry about assassins, but witches, too?"

"We're not far from the Wilds. I hear they've got witches there. But hey, we fight demons on the regular. What's a witch or two, really?" Bull said with an easy shrug, walking along beside her toward the east road as the light waned.

It was not long before they were at the head of the east road, but as the light faded, the temperature dropped dramatically. And the rain had continued, mild yet persistent.

Varric hunched in his coat and said, "I propose we make camp and get a nice big fire started before this rain gets any worse. I'm freezing my ass off."

"No," Bull said. "No fire. They'll see us coming, might attract trouble in the night that we don't want."

Varric scowled. "Well then what, Tiny? We're not going to find any bandits in the dark and the rain."

"We make camp up in the trees, out of sight of the road. No fire."

Varric grumbled, but then said, "Fine, I don't care as long as I get to sit down soon."

"Sound good?" Bull asked, turning to Melora and Cassandra.

Cassandra nodded her agreement, and Melora said to Varric, "I'll cast on the ground at the campsite, warm it beneath the tents. It'll be almost as cosy as a fire."

"And it'll make everything smell like wet dirt," Varric grumped.

"Cold or smelly. Pick one," Melora said brightly as she started off past Varric, heading up into the trees, following Bull and Cassandra.

The rain continued, light but constant, as they set up their tents. Beneath the tents, Melora placed a faint but long-lasting fire spell in the soil, and soon the ground began to steam in the cool air. None of them spoke much then, rain dripping down the backs of their necks as all but Cassandra retired to their tents. Cassandra would take the first watch tonight.

Boots off and settled in her bedroll, laying in the tent beside Bull, Melora looked into the darkness of the tent, pinpricks of false light dancing before her eyes. Rain pattered lightly across the waxed fabric, rolling down the sides and softening the ground. 

Bull rolled onto his side, leaning his head on the corner of his horn, and lay a hand on Melora, fingers splayed over her belly and hip, rising and falling with her breath. She placed a hand atop his, thumb rubbing lightly at the back of his hand. Neither of them said anything. The ground here in the forest was thick with leaves and soft dirt, and between the warming spell, the blankets, and Bull's closeness, Melora felt remarkably comfortable.

After a while, Bull asked softly, "What's it like, your magic?"

Melora had been dozing, and she opened her eyes in the darkness, able to see nothing but shadow on shadow. "Hmm?" she said drowsily. "S'magic, it doesn't have preferences."

"What's it feel like?" he asked. "To use it. To have it be a part of you?"

"I… I don't know," Melora replied, stifling a yawn against her shoulder. "It's always been there. What's it feel like to have a leg? That's what it feels like."

"But you couldn't use it when you were a little kid, right? So there had to be a first time. What'd that feel like?"

Melora was quiet then, for too long, so long that Bull joked, "You fall asleep on me there, boss?"

"No. Just…" She took a deep breath and rolled onto her side toward him, curling in on herself, arms tucked up tight, resting her forehead against the warm, broad expanse of his chest. "The way I found my magic was… unpleasant."

Bull lay his hand on her hip. "It's alright if you don't want to talk about it. I'm sorry. Was just curious."

Melora shook her head against him. "No, it's… I don't mind you being curious. It's just a difficult subject." She was quiet again, then, tracing her fingertip over the line of Bull's collarbone, feeling the swell of his chest with each breath. She could feel, too, the weight of his hand on her, and the radiant warmth of his body. She reminded herself that she was warm and comfortable and safe here, though her heart pounded in her chest with the memory of fear.

"When I was small," she said softly, "I lived with my family at the manor in Ostwick. My sisters were all older than me, too old to want to play with me, and I wasn't allowed out. So I spent a lot of time by myself, reading. There was a huge library there with books on all manner of things. If I only ever took a few at a time, they wouldn't be missed. And in one of the unused bedrooms, I found a cabinet that was mostly empty in the bottom, just the right size for me to sit inside. I filled it with pillows and a blanket, and I carved a little hole in the side of the cabinet to let light in through the window in the bedroom, and during the day there'd be just enough light that I could see my book once I closed the cabinet doors."

Bull listened silently, his breath slow and even, and Melora continued, "It was my favourite place in the whole world, that dark little cabinet. Nobody could see me. Nobody could find me. It didn't matter what was going on outside, and I could put a pillow over my head if I wanted to block out the noise. I made very sure nobody ever saw me coming or going into that room. Not that anyone really cared where I was. As long as I stayed out of the way, I probably could have died and nobody would have noticed except the cooks in the kitchen when I didn't come asking for something to eat now and then."

Melora paused once more, and when she spoke again, her voice was very small, "I thought I could keep going like that forever. There were so many books, it seemed as though I would never finish them all, not in my whole lifetime. But that was the dream of a foolish child." She swallowed hard before she continued. "I don't know how he found me. My father. I think he'd been looking for me, because by the time he found me, he was _so_ angry. I heard him come into the room, slamming open the wardrobe doors, stomping over to look under the bed. I was so scared, hiding under the blanket as if that would save me. And then the cabinet doors flew open and he reached in and yanked me out by the ankles. I tried to stop him, tried to grab on to the cabinet door, and the hinges pulled loose and that just seemed to make him even angrier."

She felt Bull pull her closer, and she knew it was meant to be comforting, protective, but Melora stiffened, remembering the feeling of big, strong hands pulling at her, the rage in them burning against her skin. But those hands were not Bull's. The only pain his hands had ever brought her was a pain she'd welcomed.

Melora turned her head, pressing her cheek to Bull's chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat, strong and sure. "It wasn't the first time he beat me. But in that moment, I was sure it would be the last, one way or another. And suddenly, I wasn't scared anymore. I was angry. I was _so_ angry. He'd taken my hiding place from me, the one tiny thing that I had in my little world. And then he was going to kill me, and I hadn't even done anything wrong. The injustice of it made me so, so mad _._ And for the first time, I fought back. I wasn't going to die without a fight, and I started kicking and clawing and thrashing, no thought to it, just wild and desperate, lashing out with everything I had in me."

Melora's lips trembled, and she said, "And then he started screaming. He'd been shouting before but all the sudden he wasn't hitting me anymore, and he just kept _screaming_. I opened my eyes, and… he was on fire. And I just sat there, watching him as he ran from the room down the hall, the room smelling of burning hair and blood and piss. I don't know when they found me. I passed out. When I woke up, they'd put me in a room far away from everyone else. They'd cleaned me up, set my broken arm, bandaged the cuts and put poultices on the bruises. But it was only the servants who came to see me, to change the bandages and bring me food. They wouldn't tell me anything, and they wouldn't stay. They barely looked at me, and when they did, they looked frightened. And when I was healed up enough to walk and enough to cover the bruises, the servants put me in a coach and escorted me to the Ostwick Circle tower. And there I stayed without so much as a letter from any of my family, until I was thirteen. I was eight."

She stopped and took a deep breath, and said, "What it felt like, the first time, was… fear, and anger. Power, too, terrifying power. And loss. I lost my family, such as it was. I lost that quiet little cabinet full of books. Lost everything I knew. I cried myself to sleep every night. I begged Andraste to take my magic from me, to make me normal. And for a long time, I thought my magic was the worst thing that could have happened to me. It was like a curse, this terrible thing I had inside me. So terrible they'd locked me away, and my own family wouldn't even write to me. I didn't even know if my father had survived."

"Fuck," said Bull, and he leaned forward to kiss the top of her head. Against her hair, he murmured, "I had no idea. I'm sorry."

Melora lifted her face from where she'd buried it against him, and shook her head a little. "I was wrong, though. Those were the fears of a child who didn't know any better. And it took… fifteen years for me to realize that it wasn't a curse. It was a gift. It let me save my own life. It took me away from that cold old house of slammed doors, silent tears, and numb fear. It kept me from being shipped off to the Chantry or married to some stupid noble I didn't even like. And eventually, it brought me to the Conclave, which was just where I was meant to be." She tipped her face up a little more, and placed a small kiss on his chin. "If I wasn't a mage, I'd have never been free. What a marvelous thing to be able to say."

Quietly, Bull asked, "Did your father survive?"

"Yes," Melora said. "He'll always bear the scars of the flames. As I will bear the scars from that beating, and so many before it. His are just somewhat more visible than mine."

"You ever lash out like that without meaning to again?"

Melora shook her head in the darkness. "The first lessons in the Circle are all about self-control. For the first several years, in fact, that's the only thing they'll teach. How _not_ to use magic. Because I'd… because I'd hurt someone, I got even more of it. I can feel it sort of…. crackling around the edges of things when I get upset. They told me it was always dangerous, that I'd never truly have it under control. That's why all the mages had to stay in the Circle, for their own good, and for the protection of others. But they were wrong. I know that now, now that I've been out of the Circle and have learned to actually _use_ my magic. It is _mine_ and it does what I will it to. It can become a little wild, used unconsciously when I'm distracted or in the heat of battle… Well, you saw what happened to the vines in your room. But it's a part of me. The intensity is sometimes a bit off, but the _intent_ is what matters. It has never truly disobeyed me. It saved me when feet and fists weren't enough."

"You don't fear it anymore?"

"The only thing I fear," she said softly, "Is that I have waited too long to develop it, that had I learned more about it when I was younger, I would be so much further than I am now. How much more could I do, how much more would I know, if I had had a real teacher? If I had been allowed to try and experiment? If I hadn't been taught to be afraid of myself. Maybe things would have gone differently at Haven. I could have done more, ended it then."

"You can't blame yourself for that."

"I don't. I blame the Circle. I blame my family. I blame this whole system that taught me to hate myself, that told me I was someone to be feared and locked away."

"But it _can_ be dangerous. Kids have a bad dream and burn the house down, or get mad over regular kid stuff and hurt somebody."

"There are always signs first. Always. If not outward ones, then inward ones. Every mage, looking back, could feel the Veil, had awareness of their magic in some way, however small. If children were taught what to look for in themselves, if parents knew what to look for, if coming forward and speaking to someone could be done without fear of their family being ripped apart... If they were taught how to control their magic, there would be no need for the Circle, at least not in the way it is now. Mages could be educated, not kept prisoner."

"Sounds like your side on this war is pretty clear."

"Not entirely. There will always be need for Templars, in some way. _A_ mage can be safe, but not every mage will be, just as not every swordsman will be, not every farmer will be. Someone needs to be able to put a stop to mages who have succumbed to possession, or who use their power to harm."

Bull's fingers found the end of her braid, twisting it idly. Melora settled back down against him, enjoying the light tug at her scalp. "You're not afraid of possession?" he asked.

"I've passed my Harrowing. And I've faced many demons. They have nothing I want."

"Nothing? Everybody wants something."

Melora was quiet then for a long moment, and then she said, "All I ever wanted, all I ever needed, I have, right here and now. I have my freedom, more glorious freedom than I know what to do with. I have a purpose, and though it is not one I chose, I believe it is a noble one. I am in the middle of nowhere in Ferelden, in a tent in the woods, listening to the sound of the rain, and I am warm and safe and my purse is full of coin. I spend my days in the open air, wearing holes in my boots and walking alongside you--"

She had to stop then, a lump in her throat, and she lifted her hands to his face, pressing her palms to his cheeks, kissing him softly, her eyes squeezed shut tight. " _You,"_ she hushed, breathless against his lips, and the ache in her chest twisted inside her, so sudden and painful it took her by surprise. Her fingertips clutched at him, pressing his forehead so hard to hers that it hurt. Melora shook her head a little, stroking at his cheeks. "Do you have any idea how much--"

Bull stole the words from her lips with his, silencing her with a fierce kiss, hand splayed warm across the span of her back. He pressed his body close against her, immense and warm, his presence engulfing and overwhelming. Everything she'd been through, everything she'd done, it had all brought her here to this moment. The pain and fear, the loneliness and isolation, all the times she'd nearly died… it had all been worth it, every bit of it. 

Melora smiled against Bull's lips, and she huffed a breath from her nose in a soft chuckle. "Mm, well, there is _one_ thing I want. Maybe you can help me with it when we get back to Skyhold," she said as she drew back a little.

Bull gave a low, fiendish laugh. "For you, anything."

"Well," Melora said, her voice taking on a husky tone, "What I really, really want, what I'm craving so badly is… Some really, really good… strawberry jam."

Bull kissed her again, his lips turned up in a grin against hers. "Alright. We'll find you some as soon as we can. Dunno how many strawberries there are up in the mountains, but I'm sure one way or the other, we can get you some. On one condition."

"What's that?" she asked.

"I get to use a little bit of it on you. Paint it on your skin with my fingers, and then..." Bull leaned forward just a bit, and to Melora's surprise, ran the flat of his tongue from her jaw to cheekbone, leaving a wet smear on her skin.

Melora squealed a laugh, too loud, and she buried her face against his chest to muffle herself, hoping Cassandra and Varric hadn't heard. "That sounds so sticky!"

"I'll have to be very thorough, then, won't I?" His breath was warm on her skin, his fingertips dancing over the small of her back.

"You usually are," she said, smiling, and then after a pause, she lifted her face to ask, "Why did you want to know about my magic?"

Bull took a deep breath, and she felt the movement of his body as he gave a little shrug. "I dunno. Thought it might have some other, more _interesting_ uses…"

Melora snorted. "You think I haven't figured out that you say 'I dunno' when you definitely _do_ know, and that you use innuendo to distract from the fact that you're being evasive?"

"Well, not _just_ when I'm being evasive."

"So what's the real reason?"

Bull shrugged again. "It's gonna sound dumb."

"You've never let that stop you before," Melora said with a smirk.

Bull poked her in the ribs playfully, but then settled into silence. When he spoke, he was quiet, almost solemn. "You live every day with this… power inside you. Doesn't that scare the shit out of you?"

Melora thought for a moment, listening to the sound of his breathing. "It used to," she said. "Even before I found my magic, I had been taught to fear mages. The idea that I could be one of _them…_ It was terrifying. And then I got to the Circle, and that experience did little to soothe those fears. Learning how to suppress my magic just made it seem even more dangerous, like I was some feral dog they had to train not to bite. I know now that control is important, that it is the first step. But I was given precious few steps after that, muzzled but not truly trained, given theory and the simplest of practice. If I'd been allowed to exercise and develop it, I would have feared it less. I would have known that I do control it, that it's not possible for me to set fire to a room just because I sneezed."

"How can you be so sure that it _is_ under control? That you would never screw up, or get over-emotional and just…" Bull trailed off then, and his hand on her back had gone still.

"Are you afraid I'm going to go full crazy apostate or something?"

"No, of course not."

"Why not? If you wonder why I don't doubt my own control, why don't you doubt it, too?"

Bull was silent then, and eventually he shook his head a little, the corner of his horn rocking against the thick canvas floor of the tent. "Because I trust you. I know you," he said. "You'd never hurt an innocent person, and if you somehow did accidentally, it'd eat you up inside."

Melora chewed at the corner of her lip for a moment before asking, "Where's all this coming from?"

Bull shrugged, and then he rolled onto his back. Melora curled up against his side, one arm folded beneath her head and the other stretched over his belly. "I'm not a mage. Seen plenty of magic, and I understand the concepts, but the reality of it, how it really feels and works for the person using it… That's always been a mystery to me."

"You never thought to ask another mage before?"

Bull gave a soft, derisive snort. "Qunari mages have their lips stitched shut, with barely enough slack left in the threads to open their mouths a crack. Not big on conversation, even if other people were allowed to talk to them, which they're not. And most of the mages over here were in Circle towers till recently, except for the odd apostate, and they usually didn't want to strike up a chat, you know? There's Dalish, but she won't even admit to being a mage in the first place, even though me and the Chargers all know. She plays it off like a joke because it's easier to smile and laugh than be afraid, so I didn't want to ask her. So… yeah, I've thought to ask before. Just never really been close enough to any mage to feel comfortable doing that."

Melora smiled to herself in the darkness. "But you feel close enough to me to ask?"

"Well, _yeah_. Spent pretty much all day, every day with you for months. Sometimes so close to you that I'm literally inside you." She could hear the grin in his voice at the end.

Melora giggled, giving him a little poke in the side. "Speaking of, I can't wait to get back to Skyhold and have some time alone with you. Really alone, not just in a tent. I used to dread having to go back to Haven, all those people, so much to do, and I'd barely see you. But now all I want to do is head back to the mountains, deal with whatever my advisors have waiting for me, and then spend a long, long time alone with you. Nothing but you, and me, and no clothes at all." 

Bull lay his arm over hers and gave her a squeeze. "I dunno about that. Might find something to you to wear, though I guess it doesn't really count as _clothes._ I ever tell you what a _saartoh nehrappan_ is?"

Melora thought for a moment. He'd taught her a lot of bits of Qunlat. Slowly it dawned on her, and Melora had to stifle a giggle, turning her face against his side. Then she stopped suddenly and asked, "Wait, were you serious just there?"

"Could be."

"Because if you were, I would _definitely_ … I mean…" She could feel her face growing hot. "I don't know where we'd find something like that, but…"

"I might have a few ideas," Bull said, a grin in his voice, and then he wrapped both arms around her, pulling her on top of him. He slid one hand up the middle of her back to her neck, bringing her down to him for a kiss.

~*~

In her dreams, Melora saw a little gathering of nugs using a fallen log as a table, setting out a tablecloth and tiny, nug-sized cutlery. All the nugs wore tiny clothes, little trousers and dresses and hats. On the table, they placed a basket covered in an old, fraying piece of cloth. From the basket, they pulled a loaf of bread and divided it among themselves. Each nug took turns dipping their bit of bread into a pot of jam, and they all sat squeaking happily to each other, munching on their sweet, sticky treats.

Until one by one, each nug squeaked suddenly, and fell face down upon the table, dead.

~*~

Melora woke in the morning confused. She put her hand out, and felt nothing but cold blankets. She was alone in the tent. She opened her eyes to see thin light coming through the tent's walls. Then she remembered, fuzzy and indistinct, the sound of voices, Bull sitting up to pull his boots on, and the murmur of his voice telling her it was his watch and to go back to sleep.

The warming spell had worn off sometime in the night, long enough ago that she was chilled, curled onto her side and huddled with the blankets up to her ears. She couldn't hear any footsteps or talking, so the others probably weren't up, or weren't packing up camp yet, at least. Melora snuggled deeper down into the blankets and closed her eyes.

In her mind's eye, she saw the threads of the Veil, and she selected a slender, flickering red-orange one, coiling it around herself, and then plucked it gently, like the string of a lute. The reality of the world just around her body shifted ever so slightly, convincing the air of its own warmth. Slowly, she drew that fragile filament of heat inward, letting it sink into her, warming her body itself, thrumming faintly with it. She stopped shivering, a little smile turning up the corners of her mouth.

She'd learned many things since the Conclave, many ways of using her magic that she'd never even heard of before. What she had once feared and loathed about herself, she embraced now. If only she'd known this little trick back then, she might not have come so close to death after Haven. So much had been hidden from her in the Circle. But now, with so many new mages with the Inquisition, having spent so long talking to Solas, Dorian, and Vivienne about their magic… Melora could feel a whole new world of possibilities to discover, just beyond the grasp of her fingertips. Without the chains of the Circle holding her back, what could she achieve?

This morning, though, she had yet to achieve getting up, and with a sigh, Melora pushed back the blankets and reached for her boots.

When she stepped out of the tent, she stared in astonishment. Overnight, the forest had been filled with a thick sea of grey fog, so dense that she could not see more than ten or fifteen paces in any direction. The trees loomed out of the shifting mist, and when she looked up, she could not see the tops of them. It was as if the rest of the world had been washed away in the fog. There was no sky, no sun, nothing at all beyond this small clearing with two tents and four weary travellers.

Cassandra was up already, her bedroll neatly tied in a bundle on the side of her pack, and she sat on a fallen tree chewing a bit of dried meat. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and she offered Melora a weary nod of recognition and a mumble that sounded a bit like "good morning."

Bull stood with his back to a tree, his axe at his side. He caught sight of Melora and gave her a slight nod of recognition, and then turned his attention back to the trees, scanning slowly, systematically.

Melora stared at him, hunching her shoulders against the chill. At least Cassandra had managed a half-hearted good morning.

She walked over, hopping over the deadfall in her way, boots crunching in the fallen leaves. When she reached his side, Bull glanced down at her for half a breath and said only, "Boss."

"Bull?" Melora said, softly so her words wouldn't carry. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah."

"Because you seem--"

"I'm fine." His eye kept flicking between her, the camp, and the forest, as if he were trying to look everywhere at once.

"Are you sure, because you--"

"I said I'm fine!" Bull snapped, and Melora stared up at him in wide-eyed shock. He'd been stern with her sometimes, or sarcastic, even grumpy. He'd shouted in a fight to be heard. But he'd never raised his voice to her. 

Bull pressed his lips together a moment and then let out a breath through his nose. "Sorry," he said, frowning. "Just… on edge. I don't like fog."

"I'll just… leave you alone then…" Melora said, almost too quietly to be heard, and she turned back toward the tents.

Cassandra was looking at her, and her gaze darted away the moment Melora's eyes fell on her. 

Melora ducked her head, tucking her hair behind her ears, and trying to look as if she hadn't noticed. She slipped back inside the tent to start packing up the bedding, folding and rolling the boiled wool blankets back into some semblance of order. Something in the center of her chest ached and stung, and her hands stopped, clenching into fists, fingernails biting palms. She released a breath and bowed her head, a deep frown creasing her brow.

She decided to let it go. They still had bandits to track down, and if they moved quickly, perhaps they could be done with the whole thing and heading back out of the Hinterlands by the end of the day. They needed to be done with the damned Hinterlands. There was too much to do to be stuck here forever, and she needed to check in with her advisors. And all of them could do with a hot bath with plenty of soap.

Melora finished with the bedding and set about breaking down the tent. The first few times she'd done this, she'd made a complete mess of it, but she'd gotten enough practice that she could probably fold it in her sleep. Varric was just getting up, too, rubbing at his eyes and yawning.

"Well, this is lovely weather," Varric said to Melora, planting his hands at the small of his back to stretch as he looked out at the fog.

"Indeed," Melora replied, still sort of sullen.

"Do we really want to be bandit-hunting in this mess? Who knows what we'll stumble into, bumbling around in this?" Varric asked.

"The briefing from the scout said that these bandits hunt in a large group. If we stay to the road and stay quiet, we should be able to hear a group that large coming, and get to cover off the road," Cassandra said, helping to pull the tent stakes from the ground.

"It's not just them I'm worried about. There's bears and wolves all over this forest." Varric crossed his arms over his chest.

"We'll just throw Cassandra at them," Melora said, mustering up a little smirk.

Varric thought for a moment, then shrugged and nodded, smiling. "Alright, fair enough. I'll break down the other tent. If we've got to do this, let's get moving. Maybe we can get back to the Crossroads by lunch time."

They finished packing up the camp quickly, and when it came time to leave, Varric turned and said, "Hey, Tiny, you coming?"

"Yeah," was the only reply from Bull. He followed at the rear, far enough back he could keep them all in his sight.

The road was easy to find, as they'd simply headed straight uphill to make camp, and they'd gone up the right side, so they turned right and headed down the road.

Melora glanced back at Bull a few times, but he wasn't looking at her, and he had that same cold look in his eye. Melora felt a chill that went deeper than the morning's cold, and she followed after Cassandra and Varric, cupping her hands around a little magical flame, just big enough to warm her fingers, its light too feeble to give them away in fog this thick.

They all watched the shifting mist around them with tense unease as they moved with care down the road, their packs carried loosely in case they needed to drop them to fight. Cassandra's hand rested on the hilt of her sword, and Melora kept her knitting stowed.

But Bull was far more than tense, startling at every creak of branches in the forest around them. A nug came running across the path and in a flash, he drew his axe, leaving the others to turn slowly, staring at him. His nostrils flared, his jaw a hard edge, and he stowed his blade again without a word.

They continued on, but Melora slowed her pace, hanging back until Bull caught up with her. She fell into step alongside him, and again, he gave her only a quick glance before he kept looking around in that same systematic, unsettling sort of way.

"Bull, please," she said, keeping her voice low, "What's wrong?"

Bull shook his head, glancing down at her. "Like I said, I don't like fog. Too many ways for shit to hide."

Melora gave him a sidelong look. "This is because it's _foggy_?"

Bull grunted.

"Should I just stop asking?"

Bull exhaled slowly, and he shook his head. "Sorry, just real on edge. I don't mean to… Look, just… stay close. Stay where I can see you. Please. And let's get this crap done so we can get out of here."

Melora nodded, and she looked up at him with a deep frown creasing her brow. She'd never seen him like this, and she wished there were something she could do. Even just to hold his hand, or stop for a moment to hug him round the waist. But she knew him well enough to know that those things wouldn't help. Whatever was wrong couldn't be fixed by a hug.

So she did as he asked, walking silently at his right side, a couple paces ahead so he could see her without having to turn his head.

They walked for at least another hour, the forest rising steeper and steeper up on either side of the road as they went on. The day brightened… but only slightly, the sun far too feeble to break through the thick layer of clouds blanketing the landscape. They stayed quiet, listening for any unnatural sound. The faintest jingle of a belt buckle or crunch of a boot on a twig could mean they were about to be attacked. Unable to knit, Melora fidgeted with her hands, picking at her fingernails and plucking bits of dead leaves from her clothes as they walked.

Cassandra was the first to break the silence. "This landscape is… not to our advantage. I don't like this. Too many places for an ambush up in these hills."

"We can't do anything about the landscape," Melora said, her voice hushed as if in a library, or a Chantry.

"Still, be on your guard," Cassandra insisted.

"What do you think I've been doing since we set out?" Melora grumbled

Cassandra said nothing in reply, and they continued on without speaking.

Their first sign of something was a shape in the road, low and slightly lighter than the muddy, rain-soaked dirt road. They all stopped, watching it closely. It did not move.

Cassandra gripped her sword and took the lead, advancing cautiously upon the shape laying in the mud. She closed the short distance to it, and gave it a nudge with her foot. Then she gestured to the others to come.

On the ground in the middle of the road, face-down in a muddy puddle stained red with blood, lay a lifeless body. An arrow stuck straight up from the center of the back. A trail of bloody footprints stopping at the body led further down the road.

Cassandra planted the toe of her boot under the corpse's shoulder and pushed it over with her foot. The body flopped limp, twisted unnaturally onto one side. The face was smeared with mud, but unmistakably young.

"Ah, shit," Varric said, shaking his head with pity. "He's just a kid. Couldn't be older than sixteen."

"They took his boots," noted Cassandra, nodding at the boy's socks, relatively mud-free considering where he was.

"Animals," Varric spat.

Cassandra pointed with her chin down the road. "He came from that direction, in a hurry."

"And they shot him in the back. Right to the heart. Tried to keep running, too, but he couldn't have made it far." Varric sighed.

"There's mud beneath where he was laying. This happened since the rains last night," Cassandra said.

Bull had said nothing, just stared down at the dead kid's slack, mud-covered face.

Melora was already heading off toward the other end of the line of footprints, and the others had to hurry to catch up before she disappeared ahead of them in the gloom.

"We should all stay close," Cassandra reminded her, hurrying along close to Melora's side, a gruff edge in Cassandra's voice, though she spoke low. "If they are near, we must be on our guard."

Melora began to reply, but then she pointed into the gloom. "There, you see?" she said, just as quietly. "There's something else in the road. Big."

Cassandra nodded, and she turned back to Varric. He saw it too.

They all advanced together, Varric watching their back as Cassandra and Melora kept an eye ahead and to the sides. Bull brought up the rear. Everyone seemed to have silently agreed not to talk about whatever was going on with him. 

And as they approached the large, hulking shape in the road, it became clear that they were looking at a battered old wooden cart, its wheels stuck deep in the mud to one side of the road. There was no sign of the horse that must have pulled it, the harness laying haphazard and empty on the ground. Around it, too, were scattered things: boxes and baskets, cloth and broken plates. Anything not of immediate use had been thrown aside. A painting tossed against a stump looked as though it'd been deliberately smashed, like someone had put their foot through it. Whatever face that had been in portrait there before was now a smeared mess of mud and frayed canvas.

Wearily, Cassandra said, "There's more."

At her feet, at the side of the cart, two more bodies, a man and a woman who looked old enough to be the teenage boy's parents. They'd bled out there beside the cart, clutching at one another even now as their eyes began to cloud, unseeing yet staring out at the four people gathered around. Both of them were missing their shoes, and the knife sheath at the man's belt was empty.

Melora jumped at the sound of Bull's voice, the first he'd spoken in what felt like ages. "Look at their fingers," he said, and there was a strange, flat quality to his voice. "The lighter band they both have. They had wedding rings."

He was right. The woman's finger was scuffed with red marks, the ring having stuck and been yanked off roughly enough for its edges to tear and cut.

Varric cast a glance back over his shoulder at Bull before he said, "Couldn't even leave them with that." He looked away, scowling, pacing away and shaking his head.

Melora walked around to the other side of the cart, frowning as she looked at all the things strewn around. At her feet lay a hairbrush, bits of brown hair stuck in its bristles. Just beyond it, an embroidered pillowcase with a muddy bootprint was mashed into the muck. These were parts of these peoples' lives. They weren't even merchants, but refugees, probably heading toward the Hinterlands, having heard it was relatively safe there. They had almost made it.

"Look at the tracks around," Cassandra said, gesturing to the muddy ground. "All the bootprints. There were many of them. At least a dozen."

"To slaughter three people, they needed a dozen men?" Varric sounded disgusted, looking down at the ruined painting.

Sticking out from behind an overturned basket full of linens, Melora saw something that caught her eye, and she took a few steps toward it. It was a small brown leather shoe. And just beyond it was another. The shoes were not empty.

Melora's blood chilled. She didn't want to look, didn't want to see this. But her feet were moving, bringing her closer, stepping over a broken crate.

A tiny body lay in the mud beside the cart, half covered in a torn, bloody cloak. Dark brown eyes stared unseeing up into the fog out of a small, lifeless face.

Melora turned away with a strangled cry, pressing her hands to her eyes as if she could rub away the image that was seared into her mind.

Cassandra made a curious noise and started around the side of the cart, but Melora was already backing away, her voice thick in her throat. "Four," Melora said. "Four people."

"Oh," said Cassandra softly, taking a few quick steps backward as Varric came around to look too, and she brought her hand to her heart. "Maker, no."

Varric said nothing at all at first. He just turned on his heel and returned to the back of the cart, shaking his head emphatically. Finally, the words seemed to burst forth out of him all at once, and he threw his hands into the air. "No, no, I have seen too much of this shit, too much. The fuck is _wrong_ with people?"

Bull was the last to see, and he did not turn away. He stood beside the cart, looking down at the tiny body, his jaw set hard against his teeth.

Cassandra stood off to the side, breathing slowly through her nose, thinking, and she turned to Melora. "Are we going to continue? They cannot be far, perhaps only an hour ahead of us. But… it seems as though we are greatly outnumbered."

"Are you suggesting we turn back?" Melora asked.

"No," Cassandra replied flatly. "I am asking what you intend to do."

"I intend," Melora said, "To kill them."

Cassandra raised her chin and gave a slight nod. "Good."

"We're not just going to leave these people for the wolves, are we?" Varric asked.

Melora looked up into the trees, the misty air chill on her cheeks. She could not shake the image of the dead child from her mind, and she felt as though she were going to be sick.

"No," Melora said, still looking up at the trees, taking a deep breath. "We're not. But we don't have time to set a pyre."

"So, what do we do, then?" Varric asked.

Melora looked back at the cart, then nodded to it. "We clear out some of this stuff to make room. We put them in here, and we cover them up with whatever we can. Keep them up off the ground and the animals away. When we get back to the nearest Inquisition camp, we arrange for someone to bring a horse to haul the cart out of the woods, to burn the whole thing as a pyre. That is, after they have a look through some of these things to see if they can find out who these people were, to contact any family they might have. It is no pleasant news to deliver, but better their loved ones know what happened than to think they disappeared."

Varric nodded, and quietly, solemnly, they began their grim task. Varric climbed up into the back of the cart and started removing the remaining things in the way, and Melora found some decently sized pieces of cloth from the belongings laying around: a thick canvas tarp, a round tablecloth edged in lace, and a much-patched and worn quilt made from mismatched scraps of fabric.

Melora gathered up the quilt and brought it to the end of the wagon. As she went to drop it on the ground, she noticed a line of embroidered writing on the corner, and she bent to take hold of the corner, to read the text.

 _"Jerrold's Baby Blanket_ ," it read in gleaming green thread stitched atop a small yellow patch placed neatly over a section of much-worn, pilled, and moth-eaten knitted blue blanket. Another, over a plain brown piece of fabric, read, " _Bram's Chantry Best (Before The Pig Incident)."_ Melora wondered at what the pig incident must have been, and in spite of the death surrounding her, she could not help but smile at the imagining, some child having ruined his best clothes from a run-in with a pig.

She lifted the quilt up out of the mud, shaking it off as best she could, and carefully folded it, doing her best not to spread the mud around. She soon had the quilt wrapped neatly, and she set it on the driver's seat of the cart. When whoever returned to this place to investigate got here, she wanted to make sure they took the quilt. The embroidery there could be a clue to this family's identity, and if they did find their next of kin, that quilt seemed like the sort of thing they might want to keep, decorated as it was with so many memories.

They started with the teenage boy, rolling him into the tablecloth, and with Bull's help, Cassandra placed him in the cart. Next came the parents, each wrapped in half of the tarp, the fabric cut with Cassandra's pocketknife. Lifting them was a bloody, messy business, and Cassandra kept swearing under her breath in Nevarran. When she was done, Cassandra wiped her hands on a rag she pulled from her pocket, though there was little to do now for the dirt and blood under her nails.

All of their eyes turned to the side of the cart. Last one.

Bull was the first to move, heading toward where the child's body lay. Melora caught up with Bull and handed him another cloth, an old cloak she'd found in a pile of clothes. He gave her a slight nod, and then stopped with the child at his feet, looking down with slumped shoulders, shaking his head slowly.

Then he knelt, wrapping the cloak around the small, still form, and then scooped the child up in his palms. The small body looked even more tiny in his huge hands, and Melora had to look away, turning to Varric and pressing her face against his shoulder. Varric patted her back and took a deep breath. The others watched Bull as he lay the child's body just inside the cart. Then he reached past to unwrap the tarp covering the mother. He tucked the child at her side, between her and the father, and replaced the tarp, and stepped back from the cart.

Melora took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and began to recite softly, "Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond, for there is no darkness in the Maker's light. And nothing that he has wrought shall be lost."

Melora looked to Cassandra, who continued, "I am not alone. Even as I stumble on the path with my eyes closed, yet I see. The light is here."

There was a pause before Varric finished, his voice thick and breaking, "Draw your last breath, my friends. Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker's right hand and be forgiven." He reached up to squeeze at Cassandra's hand where it lay on his shoulder, and the three of them stood together, close and silent.

Bull stood off to the side by himself, looking down at the blood on his hands and streaking his chest, and said nothing.


	18. Chapter 18

Time seemed to lose all meaning as they made their way through the fog. The road behind them was swallowed up with each step, the road ahead begrudgingly revealed by the shifting mist. Not one of them spoke. There were no suggestions to stop, to eat, to rest, to slow down. The four of them moved with singular purpose, packs slung over one shoulder so they could be quickly thrown aside. Varric's fingers moved over his crossbow, held against his forearm, checking, rechecking. Melora's hands clenched at her sides, and she had to force herself not to grip her daggers, trying to keep her hands loose so she'd be ready when the fight came, so her fingers wouldn't cramp and fail when she needed them. Cassandra seemed to place each footstep with care, moving with unusual tension, even for her.

And Bull… He held his axe at the ready, scanning the trees around them, his gaze in constant motion. There was something uncomfortably systematic, almost compulsive about the way he moved, looking from left to right and then back again, over and over, not the slightest pause to so much as scratch his nose or clear his throat. Melora kept looking back at him at first, trying to offer him a reassuring smile, but the look in his eye was cold, passing over her only to check that she was still there, still alive. So she walked along ahead of him to stay in his sight, and stopped looking back, trying to focus on the road ahead. Whatever was going on with him, it would have to wait, even though the twisting feeling in her stomach grew as the day went on. Everything they'd done, everything they'd been through, he was always the calm, rational one, facing the fight with a grin. To see him like this, so on edge… it was unsettling, strange, and for the moment, irrelevant, Melora kept reminding herself.

She would regret that later.

The tracks they followed along the muddy wheel ruts grew more and more muddled. The group slowed their pace even more. Then, looming out of the fog, a glowing rectangle of light: a window, lit from within by firelight. The light flickered as someone passed in front of the window inside. Cassandra raised a hand, glancing back over her shoulder, and they all drew to a stop. The road ahead widened, branching off, and the tracks here went in every direction, many fresh but others days old.

"Hold, until we're sure," Melora whispered, and Cassandra gave a slight nod. Melora glanced to Varric and then to Bull, to be sure they understood. Varric gave her a nod. Bull stared straight ahead, until Melora said softly, "Bull?"

He looked down at her, his brow drawn into a deep frown, as if he heard her from far away. "Yeah," he murmured his understanding, his voice flat, and he immediately resumed visually scanning around him, his eye pausing for only a moment as it passed over the three of them.

Melora, Cassandra, and Varric exchanged a look, concern in their eyes, but turned their attention back to that rectangle of light, staring in tense silence. The fog was too thick to see anything more than that faint golden glow hanging in a sea of grey mist. The light dimmed again, then a few moments later, once more, though whether that meant multiple people or just a single one pacing a room, they could not tell.

Melora looked to Cassandra, and whispered, "What do we do?"

Cassandra looked down at Melora, her expression slightly weary. While Melora was technically their leader, her experience with tactics was still limited, and she tended to defer to Cassandra's judgement. Or Bull's, but he wasn't offering any advice right now.

Cassandra flicked her tongue over her lips, thinking, and then whispered, "You or Varric could scout ahead, but it would leave you exposed in case of attack. Either this is where the bandits are, in which case we should all attack, or it's not, and we move on. I propose we all advance, with caution."

Melora gave a slight nod, and stuck close to Cassandra, Varric at her side. She could hear Bull's footsteps behind them as he followed too, without a word. A cold sweat lay chill on Melora's chest and under her arms, her hands shaking so hard she gripped her daggers just to steady the quaking.

Under her breath, she whispered, _"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just."_

Cassandra, close enough to hear, devout enough to recognise, reached out to give Melora's arm a reassuring squeeze. Melora let out an unsteady breath and glanced up at Cassandra, giving a nervous but thankful smile.

The road widened and branched off toward the right, toward the light glowing in the fog, the wheel ruts dissolving to mud covered with the impressions of hundreds of footprints. Against the pale mist, a shape became discernible as they approached: the side of a long, low, single-story building, the firelit window near its front corner. Other shapes too: a wooden fence, and neatly stacked felled trees. It looked to be an old logging camp, but as they drew closer, it seemed as though it had not been used for that purpose in some time. The felled trees were covered in fallen leaves, the wood grey and rotting.

There came a sound: a clearing of the throat, then coughing, and from around the side of the building, three figures emerged from the fog, talking to one another, the words too indistinct to make out. Another who had been leaning up against the building joined them, and the group erupted into raucous laughter after a few moments. The door to the building opened and two more people came out, one veering off toward the side of the building, taking on the distinctive stance of pissing against the wall.

One in the group by the building turned, noticing the well-armed figures approaching in the fog, and nudged the others. The laughter stopped, and there was a sudden silence. Melora and her companions looked at the indistinct figures near the building, and the figures looked back.

After a dozen breaths in silence, one of the figures stepped forward out of the mist. It was a tall, wiry man in a long leather coat, a short sword hanging from his belt. The others followed behind him.

The man stopped a short distance from where Melora and her companions stood, and gave them a wide grin, showing the empty spaces of several missing teeth. He hooked his thumbs into the waist of his trousers and rocked on his heels. "Can I help you folks?" he asked.

There was a slight pause as Cassandra and Melora exchanged a look. Cassandra gave the slightest nod to Melora, who swallowed hard and said, "Just passing through." Her voice cracked as she said it, but she took a step forward of her own. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she raised her chin, trying to look far more sure of herself than she was.

As they realized something was going on, more people came out of the building, gathering behind the others. These were not loggers, every one of them armed, their eyes hard, some with visible scars on their faces.

"Is that so?" the man said, still smiling that same broad, false smile. He tilted his head a little, looking Melora up and down, then glancing to Cassandra, Varric, and then finally, Bull, his eyes lingering curiously on the huge qunari. "You mercs?"

They hadn't been recognized as Inquisition. Melora supposed it was not surprising, with the Seeker emblem on Cassandra's armor covered by a cloak. Their strange, mismatched little group did seem more like mercenaries than what people seemed to expect of the Inquisition.

Melora thought fast, trying to consider this as Bull would. If these people were bandits, it was better for them to think of them as mercenaries than Inquisition. And if they weren't the bandits, it didn't really matter.

"We are," said Melora with a slight nod. "On our way to Lothering." … this road _did_ lead to Lothering, right?

"Hmm," said the wiry man thoughtfully, scratching at the side of his face. His eyes flicked to Cassandra's hand on her sword, and then back to Bull. He seemed to be considering his chances. Finally, he said, "Welllll, that is a pity, because you folks look like you know your way around a fight. Specially that one, hoo, he's big, ain't he? We got plenty of work for mercenary types right here, if you're interested. Don't need to wear out your boots walking all the way to Lothering to make good coin."

"Is that so?" Melora hoped her voice didn't sound as unsteady as she felt.

"Indeed it is," he said, nodding thoughtfully. "My crew and me here, we've got a nice little setup going. No wandering all over the place taking orders from some soft, stupid lord. Here, we sleep under a roof every night with warm feet, full bellies, and pockets fat with coin. Can get a little messy sometimes, but judging by the looks of you, you don't mind a bit of dirt."

Melora hooked a thumb to the road behind her. "That cart we passed a ways back there, that one of your, ah, dirty jobs?"

The wiry man gave another nod, his manner relaxed, almost casual. "Aye, that it was. Bit of a crap example, as the poor bastards hardly had anything worth taking. Got a nice crate of nibbles from them, though, and warm blankets, almost new. Few decent jewels, too. And the way the Hinterlands're going lately, there'll be more and more coming through every day."

"Not if you keep killing them all," Melora said, and despite her best efforts, her anger crept into her voice.

The man narrowed his eyes at her and snorted. "It's not as though I _made_ them try to run, or forced them to fight back. And then what's a bloke to do? Not defend himself? Brought it on themselves, they did."

Melora's stomach turned, and she could not suppress the sneer on her face, demanding, "That little one with them bring it on himself, too?"

The man shrugged helplessly, and to Melora's disgust, he was still grinning. "Ugly business, that. But really, would it have been better to leave the little wretch to live? I'm not in the habit of taking in stray mouths that can't help feed themselves. Truly, I was doing him a mercy. Already had seen his mam and da cut down. Better to die beside 'em than to wander the woods cold and sad and then get eaten by wolves. Or worse, crawl back to the Hinterlands and tell someone what we're doing out here." The man paused, chuckling to himself, and added, "'Sides, the little bastard wouldn't quit screaming, and it was doing me head in."

Melora trembled with anger, her horror so vast she could not formulate a reply. There were no words for this, and her hands clenched at her sides, reaching for her daggers. But she did not get the chance to act.

From behind her, a roar pierced the silence, a sound of pure, incandescent rage, like nothing Melora had ever heard before. Melora froze with fear, her blood chilling in her veins. She did not have time even to turn before she was thrown aside, crashing into Cassandra before tumbling into the mud. The wind knocked out of her, Melora lay dazed on the ground, hands sunk into the soft mud up to her wrists. Her shoulder ached where she'd been struck, and her ears were ringing. Had she hit her head? She lifted her face, the side of her cheek smeared with mud.

She opened her eyes just in time to see the flash of Bull's axe arcing through the air, and the look of surprise on the bandit leader's face as his head was cleaved from his body in a single stroke. It seemed to happen so slowly, the head tumbling to the ground, eyes still wide with shock, the headless body slowly crumpling into a heap.

And then, chaos.

Three more bandits had not even a chance to draw their blades before Bull whirled, using his momentum and the great weight of his axe to deliver a devastating slash to the three where they stood close by one another. Their light leather armor offered almost no protection against such a blow, and the three fell together, too surprised even to cry out before they died.

Two more were brought down by Bull's axe before anyone else began to move. Cassandra drew her sword and charged forward. The surprise wore off for several more bandits, and they, too, drew their blades.

Bull went for another group who looked like they were trying to decide whether to fight or to flee. They started to scatter, and he caught one in the back of the thigh. But a swordsman was coming up behind Bull at the same time, and suddenly, Melora found herself clambering to her feet, the mud trying to pull her back down. She shook free of her pack, the strap tangling around her wrist.

She found her legs, and then she was running, yanking one dagger from its sheath and levelling it at the swordsman. She gathered her magic and _pushed,_ throwing the energy through her arm and into the dagger's focus. A bright burst of flame roared through the air, cutting through the mist and bursting at the feet of the swordsman. She'd been aiming for his back. The bottom edge of the swordsman's cloak caught flame and he flailed at it in a panic, trying to rip it off, dropping his sword. His cries brought Bull's attention, and Bull turned to the screaming man behind him.

The swordsman hit the ground a moment later, the flames still smoldering as his blood soaked into the mud.

Melora heard the distinctive sound of Varric's crossbow firing, and turned to see another bandit with a bolt sticking out of the side of his neck, his blade raised at Cassandra. He died not with a scream but a gurgle.

Cassandra had made it into the fray, too, sweeping the legs out from under another one who had set his sights on Melora.

There were only a few left then, the remainder of the bandits disorganized, trying to run. But Bull was right behind them, Melora not far behind, trying to get a clear shot without risking hitting Bull in the process.

Bull _roared_ as he charged forward, using the full force of his immense, powerful shoulders to swing his axe in a great arc, cutting down one, then another, until finally, all the bandits lay dead or dying. One on the ground near him gave a pained groan, and Bull raised his axe high over his head, then brought it down with a sickening crunch. The groaning stopped, and he yanked his axe free.

Melora was right behind him, dagger in hand, when Bull turned, his face twisted into a snarl painted red with blood, teeth bared.

And his axe was already mid-swing, ready to take down the next target.

Only this time, the target was _her._

Melora had no time to react. She could not dodge this blow. She squeezed her eyes shut tight.

The blow did not come.

Melora opened her eyes. Bull's blood-streaked axe was at her throat, stopped but a hair's breadth from taking her head off.

Melora looked up into Bull's face, into his eye, and saw herself reflected there, wide-eyed and terrified. She sucked in a shaking breath, the edge of the blade brushing her throat, leaving a line of crimson across her skin.

Bull's shoulders slumped, and he stumbled back, dropping the axe at his feet. It embedded itself deep in the mud. He looked around at the carnage around him, and then back at Melora. All the fury in him had drained away, and in his gaze, she saw not rage now, but fear and horror.

He was the one shaking now, his body trembling, muscles twitching like a fly-plagued horse as he began to shiver all over, and he backed away, barely noticing as he trod on the arm of one of the dead, bones cracking beneath his boot.

And then Bull fled, leaving his pack, his axe, turning away from the bodies and the disbelieving eyes upon him. He was stumbling, making for the trees, leaving the road and charging into the fog, desperate to get away.

Melora dashed after him, and behind her, she heard the shouts of Varric and Cassandra, and though she could not make out the words, she could hear the concern and dismay in their voices. "Stay here!" she yelled back over her shoulder, sheathing her dagger as she ran.

Bull was fast, long legs moving swiftly, able to pull free of the mud where Melora had to struggle. But she would not lose sight of him, would not let him get away. She couldn't.

"Bull!" she shouted after him. "Wait, please!"

There came no reply, and Bull crashed through the undergrowth ahead of her, branches whipping back and stinging her skin, leaves showering her, sticking to the mud coating her.

"Bull, stop! Please, stop!" Melora cried desperately. He was getting further and further away. She couldn't keep up, his pace far faster than she could possibly maintain.

Then she lost sight of him, the saplings ahead still bobbing with his passage, and she could still hear the rustle and crash of him, moving further and further away. But she could not see him, lost to the fog and the trees, and a fear greater than any she had felt this day welled up within her. "Bull, stop! Stop! _Katoh!_ " she cried after him, the word choked with a sob that stuck in her throat.

Suddenly, the forest was quiet ahead, the cracking of branches ceasing abruptly. Melora kept running, blackberry brambles tearing at her clothes, ignoring the thorns that ripped at her skin, stumbling and righting herself and stumbling again.

And then she saw him again, a dark silhouette in the fog, fallen to his knees in the thick carpet of leaves. She slowed at his side, giving him a wide berth as she stepped in front of him.

Melora didn't know what to do. Nothing had prepared her for this. So she did the only thing she could think of, the only thing that felt right.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight, burying her face against his shoulder. Bull stiffened, drew a tremulous breath, and then all at once, he threw his arms around her, crushing her to him so hard she could barely breathe.

"I'm sorry," Bull whispered, his voice cracking. "I'm so sorry, _oh fuck, oh..._ "

Melora shook her head emphatically against him, and she did not loosen her grip on him even slightly. She shushed him, a rush of breath to soothe and quiet. "It's alright," she said, muffled against his skin. "I've got you. It's done, it's over."

Bull clinged to her like a man drowning, and she held him tight there in the fog and the leaves until her arms ached from holding him. It felt an age before he drew back, looking her over, his eye flickering over her almost frantically. "Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?"

Melora shook her head again. "No, I'm alright. Cassandra and Varric are fine too. It's you I'm worried about."

"Why?" Bull breathed in disbelief that she was still here.

Melora sat back, looking into his eye, loosing her grip on him to slide her hands to the sides of his face, smearing his skin with mud mixing with the blood there, and she said, "You have to ask?"

Bull drew her into his arms again, squeezing his eye shut tight, until Melora finally stood, taking him by the hand, and led him back out of the forest.

~*~

The journey back to the Crossroads was made in silence, Varric and Cassandra walking together behind Melora and Bull. They had retrieved their packs, Bull's axe strapped once more to his back. Melora had helped Bull wipe off most of the mud and blood, but the two of them were still filthy. Melora could feel Varric and Cassandra's eyes on them, and right now, she didn't care.

They did not stop when they passed the cart, and all of them focused their eyes on the road ahead, knowing what lay inside the cart and wishing they did not.

When they returned to the Crossroads, they were met with curious, fearful stares. Melora couldn't blame the people there, streaked with dirt and blood as they were, looking haggard and exhausted. But she was grateful when one of the Inquisition captains came up to her, and offered her use of one of the buildings near the Crossroads to get cleaned up and to rest.

Melora turned to Varric and Cassandra, and Cassandra offered a reassuring nod. "Go on," Cassandra said. "We'll be here."

Melora gave Cassandra a grateful look before walking up the hill to the small round building with Bull. It had once been a house, though now it was used only for storage, crates and barrels stacked against the walls. In the small hearth, a fire burned, crackling and warm.

Shrugging off her pack, Melora closed the door behind them, and turned to Bull.

He stood with his back to her, looking into the fire, and she came up alongside him, reaching out to lightly touch his arm. He looked down at her, his expression stony.

"Come on," she said softly. "Put down your things, sit down."

Bull did as she told him, laying his axe and pack aside, and lowered himself to sit on a crate near the fire.

Melora pressed the backs of her fingers to her lips, watching him in silence, wishing she knew what to do.

After a few minutes, there came a soft knock on the door, and Melora retrieved the buckets of water placed outside, saying thank you to the figure walking away.

She closed the door again, and brought the buckets over near Bull, sitting them down on the hard packed dirt floor. She straightened back up, standing just behind him, trying to think of what to say.

Bull let out a long breath through his nose and turned to look at her. He extended a hand to her, and said, "Come here."

She placed her hand in his, his fingers closing around hers, and he pulled her to him, guiding her to sit next to him on the crate. There wasn't much room, but she was small. Bull put his arm around her shoulders and gave a long, slow sigh.

"You're still here," he said.

"Of course I am."

"You saw what I did."

"Yes."

"And you're still here." He sounded so tired, and so confused.

"I'm not going anywhere, Bull."

He looked down at her, shaking his head. "I slaughtered them. Even the ones running away, the ones who hadn't raised a sword to me. I know your orders, and I didn't care. I just wanted them all dead. And… I knocked you into the mud, and I… I raised my blade to you. I nearly killed you. So I really don't know why you're still here. Or why you went after me."

Melora reached up and placed her hand upon his cheek, looking into his eye. "They deserved the death you gave them. Even if they didn't raise a sword to you, they were responsible for the murder of those civilians. Those _children_." She took a deep breath, and added, "You did knock me down. But I wasn't hurt. I could have been, in the fight, but you killed almost all of them yourself. And… yes, you swung your axe at me. But I was right behind you, and you weren't expecting me to be there. You didn't hurt me. You saw it was me, and you stopped. Anyone could have made the same error, to mistake friend for foe. You scared me, yes. But I'm fine, Bull. There's not a scratch on me. It's you I'm worried about."

Bull bowed his head, closing his eye, and he took his arm away, hunching over his legs. He was quiet for a long time then.

"I'm going to get cleaned up," Melora said. "If you want to talk, I'm here."

She got up off the crate and stood by the fire, pulling off her mud-caked coat, taking off her belt, toeing her boots off, and then removing the rest of her filthy clothes. She piled it all in a heap to clean later, peeling off her socks last to stand naked on the dirt floor. Bull watched her in silence as she padded across the floor over to the buckets of water. Melora knelt beside one and placed her hand beneath the water's surface, whispering softly under her breath until the water began to warm, steam rising in tendrils around her arm.

Then she retrieved a rag and a sliver of soap from her pack and returned to the bucket to wash herself, starting with her face and hands, muddy brown water dripping from her elbows and soaking into the floor beneath her feet. She cleaned her hair, and then the rest of her from the top down, sluicing dirty water off her toes. When she was finished, she wrung out the rag and laid it with the soap by the hearth to dry, and went to sit back down beside Bull, still naked, the wood of the crate rough beneath her bare skin.

She sat silently with him, watching the flames dancing in the hearth, and waited, water drying on her skin, hair dripping down her back. She said nothing, and did not look at him or press him.

Bull was motionless, looking into the fire, too.

After a long time, he shifted where he sat, clenching and unclenching his hands, and said softly, "I can't lose control like that. I can't."

"You pointed yourself at the enemy, at people who deserved to die, and you killed them. I think you did exactly what you intended to do."

Bull growled, shaking his head. "You don't understand."

"Then help me understand. Talk to me, Bull, please."

Bull looked down at the floor, and took a deep, shaky breath. "That's not the first time I've…" He stopped then, as if he couldn't find the right words for what he'd done, and he closed his eye for a moment, his shoulders slumped. "I told you about Seheron. Some of it. The easy parts. But I left a lot out. I… I've never really told anyone about all of it."

Melora waited, letting him speak in his own time. It took a while before he said anything more.

"It was an ugly place," he said, his voice quiet, still looking down at his feet. "Everyone at each other's throats. Couldn't go a day without blood, between the Tal-Vashoth, the Vints, my people, and the Fog Warriors. Everyone fighting everyone else, and it was just getting worse when I left."

He paused, chewing at his lip. "I told you I turned myself in to the re-educators. I burnt out. But it wasn't just that one day, I was done. It was… something happened."

Bull rubbed both hands over his face. "There was this one guy I saw every morning. Ran a little shop, sold food there. He made these tasty things, fish wrapped in this thin bread. Talked to him a lot when I was there. Real nice guy. So one time, I'm there, asking about his bad back, and I see he's nervous, trying to tell me something with his eyes. Next thing I know, his assistants draw knives and come at my team. The rebels had forced him to poison our food. I'd seen how nervous he was, so I hadn't eaten anything. Couple of my guys weren't so lucky. I lost two men to the poison and another to knife wounds. My friend who made the fish wraps died with a knife in his throat. Close-quarters fight, and he was caught in the middle. Just another fucking day in Seheron."

He shook his head ruefully, and said, "They pulled that shit with the poison on a couple other units, too. After that, my superiors were real keen on finding where the rebels were getting the poison from. They put me and what remained of my team on it."

Bull pressed his lips together, frowning down at the floor. "They, uh… the Tal-Vashoth rebels, I mean. They got bolder with their poison, once they saw how well it worked against the soldiers. So they got it baked into a whole load of bread... And delivered it to a school." He sucked in a shaking breath, clenching his hands tight, nails biting palms. "They killed thirty-six kids that day. We went to the school, after... Verified that it was the same poison. We were supposed to have found where it was coming from, and we failed."

Bull scratched at the back of his neck, his leg jittering. "So, uh, after that, we got information on where they were holed up. I was under orders to find the rebel poisoners only. Just locate them. To deal with them, they were going to send in a military unit. Ben-Hassrath could fight, sure, but it wasn't our primary objective. But… technically, I didn't know just how many of the rebels were there. So… it was still an 'investigation.' Still under our jurisdiction. Still under _mine._ "

He swallowed hard, anger tinging his voice. "It was a fucking stupid thing to do. We didn't have enough information going in, and it was sloppy. Reckless. But I wanted to see them pay for what they'd done. I wanted them _dead_ , no matter the cost. We lost three just on the approach. Their base was well-guarded, and they raised the alarm as soon as they saw us coming. We should've pulled out, but instead, we went in. Vasaad was first through the door. We'd known each other since we were kids, Vasaad and I. And… he caught an arrow in the neck, and that was it. He was dead. Hit the floor just looking sorta surprised, like he was confused about where all that blood came from. And I just… lost it. I saw red, and charged in. What was left of my men, they… they were smart. They didn't follow. They went for help. When they came back, I had killed _everyone_. Not just killed but… slaughtered. It was… messy. I got pretty badly fucked up in the process too. Nearly died."

Bull's eye was focused somewhere far away, looking unseeing at a spot by the wall, and his hands were shaking, so he rubbed them together as if trying to warm his skin, trying to rub off the smears of blood still there. "My guys got me out of there, patched me up till I had the right number of holes again. And then, uh, soon as I was back on my feet, I went straight to the re-educators."

Bull looked down at his shaking hands, and Melora wanted to reach out and comfort him, to clasp those shaking hands in hers. But she could not soothe this hurt, those old wounds too deep. Bull chewed at his bottom lip until it bled, a spot of crimson welling there that trembled as he spoke, "I'd put myself in danger. Got my friend killed. Lost five men. Charged in when we were way outnumbered. I wasn't following protocol, too angry to think straight anymore."

He rubbed his hands over his face and then he leaned back, looking up at the ceiling before closing his eyes. "It was just too much. Every day the same shit. And it was just getting worse, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. I was trying, I really was, but after eight years of trying to get close to the locals, deal with the rebels, fight off the Vints, and stop the Tal-Vashoth… Everything was still all fucked up. I'd be on patrol in the market square, this weird alchemical fog would roll in, and before I knew it, half my squad, dead without a sound, thanks to the fucking Fog Warriors. And new guys kept arriving to fill in the ones that had been killed, like they had an endless supply of cocky young idiots to send over to die crying for their Tamas while they puked and died from eating something the Tal-Vashoth had poisoned, or bleeding out into the street from a dagger in their guts. It seemed like they kept getting younger and younger the longer I was there. Or maybe I was just getting older. I tried to keep them alive, I really did. But they just kept dying. Everyone just kept dying. Thirty-six little kids died because I couldn't find the Tal-Vashoth fast enough. What did it matter if I died, too?"

Bull stopped then, taking several deep breaths Melora waited, a deep frown creasing her brow. Fuck, no wonder he'd been freaked out by the fog, why he'd been so insistent on keeping her where he could see her.

"I didn't ever want to feel like that again," he said finally, his voice low. "I like killing shit. I like fighting. But that…. that is something different. Something else takes over. Like being possessed, but it's not a demon. It's something in me. I thought I had it under control, but clearly, I don't, and… I don't know how to cut it out of me. I wanted the re-educators to do it… but they just had me sent away."

When he said nothing more for a while, Melora took it as a sign he was done, and she folded her hands on her thighs, looking up at him. "May I ask?"

Bull looked confused for a moment, but then gave a faint, rueful smile. Of course she wanted to ask things. He gave his consent by way of a small nod.

Melora shifted, and licked at her dry lips. "The Tal-Vashoth poisoners, their base or encampment… You are _certain_ that they were the ones responsible for the school, for the other poisonings?"

Bull nodded. "The information we got was good. Found more of the poison there… after. It was them."

"What sort of place was it?"

Bull blinked. "Uh. Off in the jungle, not far from Alam. They'd found some old temple and used it as a base of operations for their attacks."

"The sort of place where everyone there would be fighters? Or at least, directly involved in some way in their efforts?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Not civilians."

He nodded again.

Melora frowned, thinking, and then shook her head. "Then… I'm sorry, I still don't understand."

Bull took a deep breath, pressing his lips together. "I let myself go… feral. More creature than man. I understood then how someone could go Tal-Vashoth. Why Seheron kept turning people to that. If I'd broken earlier, maybe I'd have ended up one of them, too. But after all that time, I was too tired to keep fighting. Not for their side, not any side."

"So, today…"

"I dunno. Just all came back to me today."

"The fog?"

"Didn't help. I _know_ there are no Fog Warriors in it but it still made all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up."

"And… the child, too." It wasn't a question. Seeing that poor child had affected them all.

"Boss, I fucked up, I know. And I'm really fucking sorry. It won't… I won't let it happen again, I swear it. Just… don't send me away, alright? Please?" There was a pleading ache in his voice, a desperation that twisted around her heart.

Melora looked up at him, staring wide-eyed. "Why would I send you away?"

Bull's face twisted with confusion. "I raised my axe to you in battle. I could've killed you. I was out of control. I could have--"

"No," Melora said softly, and she cupped his face in her hands. "No, you couldn't. You saw me, and you stopped. When it was done, you knew we were there. Me, Cassandra, and Varric. You didn't attack us. Yes, you raised your axe to me. But you didn't hurt me. In Seheron, too, when you were done, you stopped. You didn't run into the wilderness in search of more people to hurt. You were still in control of yourself, even if it didn't seem like it."

Bull bowed his head, looking away from her, down at the ground. "You're not qunari. You don't understand."

"You think qunari have some monopoly on being monstrous when they decide they no longer need to behave within the rules of society? You call them Tal-Vashoth. We call them bandits."

"It's different. qunari are different."

"Maybe they are. But I don't know all qunari. I know you. You… you get angry, but it's not sustainable. You couldn't possibly go marauding across the countryside day after day, killing indiscriminately, planning attacks on innocent people. To wake up and do that day after day… you don't have that in you. And you know it. Seheron may have taken many things from you, but it could not take who you are deep down, your morality, your goodness. And whether you're living under the Qun or outside it, that is still a part of you, and always will be. You believe in a right and wrong, in protecting the innocent and helpless. And no amount of anger can erase that from you."

Bull clenched and unclenched his hands, and he still wouldn't meet her gaze. "I never wanted you to see this side of me. I never wanted it to come out again. I don't know how to go back from this, how to go forward."

"It is finished. They're dead. You avenged those people, and we are all safe, unharmed."

"How can it be finished when I know I have this in me?"

Melora gave him a soft smile, and then she lifted a hand, rubbing her fingers and thumb together. A little flame leapt to life there, dancing across her fingertips, blue at its core and tipped with gold. "I know a little about what it's like to have power that you're afraid of. To have a part of yourself that you have to wrestle with. But you are not possessed. There is no rage demon within you. You felt anger at the murder of children, and at the death of your friend. _Of course you did._ I can see that it would be terrifying and overwhelming, to have your full power, everything a man of your incredible strength can do, unleashed like that. But back then, as today, you directed your fury and destruction at the deserving, and _only_ the deserving. You are no monster. You are not mad. This world is madness. We're trying to put it right."

She folded the flame into her palm and it winked out. Then she extended her hand to him, the light of her mark outlining the edges of her fingers. "We _are_ putting it right. You may not have made Seheron better, but look at the Hinterlands. Look at Skyhold. All we've done, all you've helped do. I could not do half of what I've done without you by my side. You've saved my life innumerable times, put yourself in the way of blades meant for me. You are making a difference here."

Bull took her hand in both of his, his huge hands covering hers completely, hiding the light of her mark. "Most of that's you, boss," he said. "I'm just here to keep your cute little ass from getting skewered."

Melora tilted her head a bit, peering up at him through her eyelashes. "Well, perhaps just a little, occasionally?"

Bull blinked once, twice, and then sat back, a faint smile at the corner of his mouth. "If you want, alright, sure." Then he smiled ruefully and shook his head, bringing her hand to his lips, placing a kiss there with his eye closed. When he spoke, his words brushed against her skin, a puff of breath on her knuckles. "Damn, finally get some time alone outside of Skyhold and it's… like this. Didn't mean to get all serious at you. Sorry."

"You're allowed to lose your shit now and then. We all do sometimes. Especially on days like today. Fighting demons is terrifying, but fighting people is even worse sometimes. And we see the worst in them far more often than the best. It's enough to break anyone's heart."

"Somehow, not yours."

Melora shrugged and smiled a little. "Whenever I've stumbled, you've been there with a stiff drink and a kind word. Seems only right I return the favour."

"You hiding a stiff drink in your pack somewhere?"

She chuckled. "Sadly not. Perhaps we can find something once we're done here. But in the mean time, we need to get you cleaned up." Bull started to get up, but she shook her head. "You just sit."

"I don't need you to baby me," he protested.

"Would you just sit your giant ass down and let someone else take care of you for half an hour? The world won't end if you let me clean the muck off of you."

Bull lowered himself slowly back down and then said, "You don't get that commanding tone often. I, uh… I think I like it."

Melora smiled and retrieved the cloth and soap from the fire, and then knelt by the unused bucket of water, warming it as she had with the the first. She wet the cloth, wringing the excess water from it before standing again.

Bull took a deep breath and lifted his hands from where they rested upon his thighs. His fingers went to the leather strap tied around his right horn, untying it and lifting the patch away from his ruined left eye. He set the patch aside on the bench, bowing his head.

Melora placed her fingertips beneath his chin, guiding his face up to hers, and said softly, "I've never seen you with it off before."

"I know."

As she looked at him, Melora couldn't help but suck in a breath. Bull had not so much lost an eye as had half his face smashed in, thick parallel scars stretching from the middle of his forehead to his cheek. The bone of his brow seemed to have been shattered and pushed in, healed misshapen beneath the scars, only a few tufts of black hair left growing where his left eyebrow had been. What remained of his eye socket was covered in a depression of scar tissue, the flesh gnarled and shining in shades of pink and purplish grey.

Bull pressed his lips together tightly, watching her as she watched him, and he exhaled slowly through his nose, his face stony.

With the utmost care, Melora reached out and ran the cloth over his forehead, paying extra care to clean the blood from the deep scarred grooves in his flesh. Then she cleaned his cheek beneath the scars where his eye had been, gently as she could, wiping around the side of his nose and then across over to his ear. When his face was clean, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his scarred brow, the few little hairs there tickling her lips.

Bull gestured to the left side of his face, and asked, "This doesn't bother you?"

"Why would it? It's a part of you."

"Most of the other parts of me don't make little kids cry just because I smiled at 'em."

"That actually happened?"

Bull nodded. "Not recently, not since I started wearing the patch, but… yeah."

"Is that why you wear it? Your other scars, you wear with something like pride."

He nodded again. "I get enough people staring as it is. Don't need them gaping in horror, too. Couldn't even talk to people without them just staring right at this mess."

"You thought I'd do the same?"

Bull looked away from her again, shaking his head. "I dunno. The fact that you never even asked me to take it off… I guess I just thought you didn't want to see. Other people have asked."

"You mean people you've been with… slept with?"

Bull gave a slight nod.

"I figured if you wanted to take it off, you would. That you left it on even when otherwise naked… that's your choice. I won't ask you to uncover any part of yourself you're not willing to."

"You're just so curious about everything, I thought…"

"I'm curious about things I don't understand. I know you lost your eye defending Krem. I didn't need to see the scars to understand that."

"Yeah. Well, it was worth it. Krem's alive, and a good guy. I'd have been pissed if I lost an eye and he turned out to be an asshole."

"Does it still hurt?"

"Nah, not really. Itches sometimes, but it's just part of the background noise."

"Background noise?"

Bull gave her a wry, cheerless smile. "Yeah. All the crap that hurts some, all the time. I've broken bones and been stabbed more times than I can count on all my fingers and toes." He held up his hands, glancing at the stumps of his last two fingers on his left hand. "Which would be easier if a wyvern hadn't eaten two of my fingers. So, yeah. Background noise. I've got a lot of it."

"All the time?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Does anything help?"

Bull pursed his lips and shook his head. "Not really. Nothing ever makes it go away entirely. Even if I get really fucking drunk, it's still there. I just don't notice it as much. Killing shit is a good distraction, too. Well, and sex."

"I suppose that explains your favourite hobbies." Melora smirked at him.

Bull glanced at her and rolled his eye, a gruff edge to his voice. "Hey, I liked drinking, fighting, and fucking before I got all banged up. They're just extra useful now, too."

Melora took a deep breath. "So why didn't you say anything?"

Bull snorted. "Why would I? I don't need sympathy, and the healers can't do anything for it. Nobody needs to know about it for me to do my job."

"Why wouldn't you at least tell me? Not as your boss, but just as...me?"

"I thought I just did."

Melora opened her mouth and then shut it again. "Yeah. You did. Sorry."

Bull took a deep breath, looking down at his feet on the floor. "Look, just don't go getting all soft on me about it, alright? Pity'll just piss me off."

Melora drew her hand down the side of his cheek, his beard rough on her fingertips. "You think I'm going to forget what a badass you are? You know your own body very well, and if you need a break or help, you can ask for it. Just as long as you do ask, when you need it. You don't have anything to prove, especially to me."

Bull flicked his eye up to her and the corner of his mouth turned up in a faint smirk. "Thanks, boss."

Melora knelt to rinse the cloth again, and said, "Come on. Take off the rest of this. Let me get the blood off you."

She helped him undress, taking off his boots, folding his huge trousers and setting them aside with his belt and harness, and Bull sat back down on the crate, as naked as she was. Melora swiped a bit of soap onto the cloth and continued cleaning the blood from his skin.

As she ran the cloth down his arm, she asked, "Were you afraid of how I'd react, seeing you without the patch?"

"I didn't know how you'd react. Thought maybe you'd… I dunno. I know it isn't pretty."

"Is that what the others said, when they asked to see it?"

"No," Bull said, "Because I didn't show them. Wasn't going to get into all that with someone I barely knew. Most of 'em weren't sleeping with me because they had any real interest in _me_ anyway."

"So, nobody else has _really_ seen you naked in a couple years now, then?"

Bull lifted his face to hers, and slid a hand along the back of her neck, pulling her close to him to brush his lips across hers, warm and soft. Then he shook his head slightly, breath through his nose fanning gently over her parted lips. "Nobody else has ever really seen me completely naked," he said, his voice a low rumble in his chest.

Melora drew back a little, raising an eyebrow. "Did you keep your socks on before?"

Bull chuckled against her lips and kissed her again, softly. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you--?"

"You'll figure it out," Bull murmured, and then he silenced her questions with another kiss.

~*~

When Bull and Melora emerged from the little hut, it was almost nightfall. They were both clean, dressed in a fresh change of clothes, though Bull carried his still-grimy harness and belt in one hand, his pack in the other. Nearby, Cassandra and Varric's tent was set up, and the two were sitting beside a fire, talking quietly to one another. They both stood when Melora and Bull approached, looking curious but saying nothing.

Bull laid down his things and then straightened, looking at the two of them and said, "Hey, uh, I'm real sorry about earlier. I just kind of--"

Cassandra shook her head. "There is no need to apologise. Those bandits needed to die. You killed them. Quite impressively well."

Varric looked up at her confusedly, and then at Melora. "You're alright with this?" he asked her. "He nearly took your head off."

"Nearly. But didn't. A near miss in the heat of battle," Melora replied.

Cassandra nodded her agreement. "It happens in melee combat. That he was able to stop the blow speaks to his skill and self-control. I don't know if I could have done the same."

"Can you guys stop talking about me like I'm not here?" Bull asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Look, I know it was… weird. The fog, that cart, that smug bastard acting like… I'm… I'm good now, alright?"

Cassandra looked to Melora. "You have spoken with him about this?"

"At length," Melora replied.

"And it is resolved to your satisfaction?" Cassandra asked.

"Completely."

Cassandra shrugged slightly, and then nodded. "Then I am satisfied as well. Come, the people here have made a huge pot of mutton stew and shared some with us. It's delicious."

Melora tensed, remembering the basket delivered to her earlier, but then Bull said softly, so only she could hear, "It's from a big pot, and they've already had some. It's alright."

The four of them sat back down at the fire, and Cassandra handed a bowl of steaming stew to Melora, and then one to Bull. It smelled amazing, thick chunks of mutton with potatoes, carrots, and onion. Melora's stomach made a grumbling noise of approval, and she began to eat, too fast at first, burning her tongue and searing the roof of her mouth. After everything, it was the most delicious thing she'd ever tasted.

As she ate, though, she glanced up at Varric over the edge of her bowl. She was disappointed, though unsurprised, to see him staring at her and Bull with narrowed eyes.

Melora ignored him, finishing her bowl of stew before going back for seconds.


	19. Chapter 19

Melora coughed behind the strip of cloth tied over her mouth and nose. Her hair was pulled back into a rough bun, and she wore a set of her travelling clothes: a loose, belted linen shift and battered old trousers tucked into plain leather boots. Dust and cobwebs speckled her arms and face, sticking to the sweat shining on her skin. She wore her old fingerless gloves, fraying and threadbare, to protect her hands and cover her mark.

Wielding a broom, she gathered up a clump of cobwebs on the bristles, and carried several dozen spiders out into the garden, hitting the end of the broom against a column to knock the spiders off near a bush. Melora cringed. Spiders had always bothered her. But these would help keep insects under control, and would only help improve Skyhold's little courtyard garden. Haven's apothecary, Adan, had been tending to the garden, planting the seeds and cuttings that Melora and her companions brought back with them. Around the edges of the garden, little seedlings fluttered in the light breeze, planted behind stakes so they would not be trod upon.

Melora watched the panicked, dust-covered spiders skitter away, and then took a deep breath, the mountain air cool and fresh. It was strange, this spot of warmth and light in the icy expanse of the Frostback Mountains, but there was also a peace to it, a safety and comfort to the place. She had never felt at home anywhere. Not at her family's home in Ostwick, and certainly not within the Circle. But here, this place, with these people, trying to do something good… She could call Skyhold her home.

Melora carried the broom back into the chapel and worked on gathering a large pile of dust, dead leaves, dead beetles, and more than a few live spiders who went flailing for cover after the sweep of her broom. She'd already moved most of the broken old benches and rusted ironwork into a heap by the door. Now it was just a matter of making the space clean again. New furnishings could come later.

It felt good to be like this, in clothes that felt like hers, without the trappings of the Inquisitor, and to be doing something that let her move and work and make visible progress. There was a simplicity to it, a satisfaction she never got when finishing off a stack of intelligence reports. And there was a comfort to it, too. Her noble birth had not exempted her from work in the Circle, and what work was not done by the Tranquils was left to the young mages. She had spent many hours in her youth sweeping and dusting, left alone with her thoughts in some quiet room in the Tower.

Melora hummed as she worked, the rhythm of the broom providing a swishing beat as she cleaned the chapel floor. The sound almost covered the footsteps behind her, but not quite, and Melora smiled when she recognized the familiar cadence of those feet on the stone, the click of metal alternating with the dull slap of leather.

Without turning, Melora propped the broom against the wall, then slapped her palms together and rubbed the dirt off on her trousers. She pulled the crude mask down from her nose and smoothed a hand back over her hair. He'd seen her covered in gore and a week's worth of road dirt. A little bit of sweat and dust was nothing, now.

"Hey, boss. Been looking for you. Red said I might find you in here." Bull stopped short of stepping in the pile she'd been sweeping, looking down at it and then back up at her quizzically.

"And here I am," she said, rocking on her heels.

"What're you up to?"

"Demon slaying. What's it look like?" Melora glanced back at the broom and then to Bull, smiling.

"You know you pay people to do this, right? There's a whole crew of laborers and cleaners. I saw them working just a little while ago." He hooked a thumb back toward the door.

"I know. But they have more important things to do right now, like setting up the new infirmary. I had a few hours to spare, so I found someone to provide me with supplies, and got to it." She rested her hands on her hips, sweat cooling on her forehead.

"Yeah, but… why? This can wait. Me and Krem are gonna go build a snow dragon to guard the far end of the bridge, and I came to see if you wanted to come too. You don't get much of a chance for a break."

Melora shrugged. "We don't have a Chantry here, but we do have this." She waved a hand toward the statue of Andraste and then wider, indicating the whole chapel space. "It seemed wrong that this place be left in such a state of disrepair, especially when someone brings fresh fruit up to my room every day, whether I'm at Skyhold or not. So I'm doing this myself."

Bull let out a long, slow breath, shifting from foot to foot. "You actually believe in all this stuff, don't you? The whole… Maker, Chant, Andraste thing."

"I do."

"Huh." Bull blinked a few times, but said nothing more.

Melora looked up into his face and laughed softly. "Seriously?" She looked back down at her hands, and she pulled back the palm of her fingerless glove on her left hand. Her mark cast a faint green glow on her fingers.

She held out her hand to him, unfurling her fingers as she did. The mark sparkled in the dim chapel light, burning brighter as her thoughts turned to it. She had learned to control it, and she no longer feared its glow. Whatever its original purpose, it was hers now, and she covered it only to avoid the stares it brought. That it caused her pain gave her no concern. Many things caused her pain these days. Melora took a deep breath and focused her mind, making the mark flare brighter, throwing flecks of green light onto Bull's face as he looked down at her palm.

She looked up at him with a small, almost apologetic smile. "I was chosen by Andraste. I saw her, at the Conclave. She saved me, and she gave me this mark. She gave me the power to do something about the rifts. I tried to deny it for so long, that it couldn't be possible. But how could it not be true? With all that we've done... all that _I've_ done."

"Yeah, I dunno about that."

Melora rested her unmarked hand on his arm. "I'm not asking you to believe. Just to accept that I do."

"Alright. I'm just trying to understand. So… do you support the Chantry? The Templars and the Circles and all of that, too?"

Melora drew back, aghast, shaking her head emphatically. "No! No, Andraste's teachings and what the Chantry have twisted them into are two very different things. The Chantry needs to dedicate itself to spreading the Chant of Light and the words of Andraste, but it shouldn't be done at the end of a sword."

"You know that's a lot of what the first Inquisition did, right? Even Andraste herself marched against the Imperium with an army at her back. Seems like 'at the point of a sword' is built into the whole thing. It's even on all the banners."

Melora sighed. "That is the sword of Hessarian, who ended Andraste's suffering when she was burned. It is a symbol of mercy and redemption, not conquest. And Andraste marched to end the corruption of the Imperium and its Magisters after they brought about the first Blight."

"And ended up taking much of southern Thedas in the process."

"Taking, or freeing from the Imperium's slavery?"

Bull crossed his arms over his chest. "Depends on your perspective, doesn't it?"

She shrugged a bit. "Perhaps. But I am most concerned with Andraste's core teachings, the morality and directives set forth by her in the Canticle of Transfigurations."

"That's the one with the whole 'magic exists to serve man, not rule him' bit, right?"

"Yes, among a lot of other things. And it's, 'Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they who have taken his gift and turned it against his children. They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond.'"

Bull squinted at her. "Yeeeaah, that's the one. That doesn't bother you? Using offensive spells seems to be turning that gift against your Maker's children, isn't it?"

"It's a common misconception that Andraste was condemning mages and magic in a general sense. She was saying that magic is a tool, and should be used for the greater good, not to oppress or harm the innocent. She was speaking of the Magisters of the Imperium, of their abuses of their powers."

"The Templars seem to think otherwise."

"Their order has spent many, many years making more and more rules about what is and isn't allowed, many of them contradictory. The Templars are made up of people, and none of them are Andraste. I… have seen too much, learned too much about what magic can do to believe it is inevitably corrupting, despite what I was taught. The Templars are wrong, and their abuses are… unspeakable."

"It doesn't bother you that the Templars sprouted up from the first Inquisition, and now you're leading another one?"

"I didn't choose the name. I didn't choose to be Inquisitor, either. But when someone gives you an inspirational speech and offers you a shining sword with dragons on it, and you're standing in front of a crowd who need to believe in you… There's not much choice besides picking up the sword."

Bull's lips twisted, and he gave her a skeptical look. "And you're getting on board with this whole Herald thing too, then?"

"I still don't like it. The attention and responsibility, mostly. But I believe it, even if I can't quite accept it."

"What changed your mind?"

Melora turned toward the statue of Andraste, looking up into its stone face, walking slowly toward it. Bull followed a few steps behind her, his eye on her as she explained.

"I suppose it's due to several things. I'm not dead yet, which is a surprise, as I am the least qualified person alive for this sort of work. Seeing Andraste is also a large part of it. And… something Varric said, after Haven. That either I'm touched by Andraste, or I'm cursed. And I don't feel cursed." Her gaze flickered over the face of the statue, as if searching for something there. Whatever she looked for, it was not to be found on the cold, lifeless stone surface. "Also, um… after Haven was destroyed, when I was wandering in the snow, I held my hand out in front of me, trying to light my way with the mark, too weak to cast. I just walked, with no idea where I was going. And somehow ended up heading for the camp, instead of deeper into the mountains to die. The mark… it led me to the camp."

Bull was quiet for a moment before he replied, his voice low behind her. "I guess that sort of makes sense. That those things would sway you, I mean." She felt his hand rest heavy on her shoulder, his thumb brushing at the fine hairs stuck to her skin at the back of her neck. Melora closed her eyes and took a deep breath, savoring his touch. He seemed to reach for her often now, hands seeking her in idle moments. That morning, she had woken to dawn's light to find him curled around her almost protectively, both arms wrapped around her, clutching her tightly to his chest. She had lain awake in his arms until a messenger was sent up from the war council to tell her she was late.

Melora lay her hand over Bull's on her shoulder, squeezing lightly at his fingers. "And… one more thing. Andraste's history. Her children. She had three sons, adopted, their natural mother her husband's concubine. But she gave birth herself to two daughters later. The line of one ended. The other had daughters, and those daughters had daughters of their own, and so on. Only ever girls born to her line. The lineage was lost, both destroyed deliberately and obscured by time and marriages, but..."

"You're thinking…"

"That I'm the youngest of five sisters, and my mother was the middle of three sisters. Her mother only had sisters. I don't know about any further back than that, though my aunt may know, if I were to write to her."

"So... you think Andraste chose you because you're related?"

"I don't know. Nobody knows whether Andraste's line continues, or who they might be. But I can think of no other reason why she would have chosen _me._ There were hundreds of others at the Conclave who would have made better leaders or stronger fighters. Just imagine someone like Cassandra leading the Inquisition, this mark on one hand and a sword in the other, charging in to close the rifts, fearless and glorious. We'd be done with all this nonsense by now."

"You really don't see it, do you?" His voice was warm and soft, and he pulled at her shoulder, turning her to face him. He seemed to hesitate a moment before reaching down to take her unmarked hand in his, squeezing at her fingers, and Melora could not help but smile. He was so damned _big_ but so incredibly careful and gentle with her. Well… he was gentle _most of the time._ That little smile of hers twisted at the corners.

"What don't I see?" she asked.

"Everything you've done. You think Cassandra could have done half of what you have? You think she'd have been able to get as many people on our side as you have?"

"But she's so fierce and passionate, and such an incredible fighter."

Bull shook his head a little, rubbing idly at the center of her palm with the pad of his thumb. "You remember that one guy a while back, the one who joined up with those idiots worshipping the rifts in the Hinterlands? We found his girlfriend's body and you delivered the bad news. If that had been Cassandra, she would have just offered her condolences and walked away. Bigger things to worry about than one guy's feelings, and not her problem besides. But you stayed there and talked to him. And in the end, he asked what he could do to help the Inquisition. Same thing with those guys on the coast, the Blades of… something."

"Hessarian."

"The sword guy?"

She nodded.

"Alright. Well, those guys. You got them on our side, too. You talk to damn near every person we come across. You ask 'em questions, make 'em feel like they matter. And when you're done, they join up. Because of you."

"I'm confused. Are you trying to convince me that I _am_ the Herald of Andraste now?"

Bull chuckled, shaking his head. "Naw. Just trying to get you to see what you've been doing, how impressive it is. If you are the Herald, I think your Andraste chose well."

Melora sighed, curling her fingers around his. "Why would a real Herald be this scared all the time, though?"

"Andraste was a slave who got weird visions from a god, was betrayed by her own husband, and then burned alive. Seems like all that crap would be pretty scary." He cast a glance up to the statue, as if Andraste might have noticed they were talking about her.

"You sound like Mother Giselle. Well, with more swearing." Her eyes glittered with amusement as she looked up at him.

"Hey, I can read the Chant like anyone. Doesn't mean I have to buy it, but if you do, well… Seems to me that if anyone has reason to believe in that stuff, it's you."

"Being around all this doesn't make you think about it, even just a little?"

"I dunno. I've seen some weird shit, sure. Demons pouring from a hole in the sky, that's a new one. You having that mark and being able to close the rifts, that's… something too. But it doesn't mean that the whole Maker and Andraste thing is right." Bull shifted from one foot to the other, shaking his head as he continued. "Way the whole thing reads to me, the Maker didn't do a real great job of making things in the first place, screwed up the balance of things. And rather than stick around and sort it out, he ran off to stick his fingers in his ears. And you're supposed to sing the Chant loud enough that he can hear it over the sound of himself going _la la la can't hear you_ in hope that it might make him come back to fix all this shit? Even if that is how things really are… fuck that guy."

Melora snorted a laugh, bringing her hand to her mouth. "Well, that's… one way of looking at it. And I'll admit, it is one I have considered myself since the Conclave, though perhaps not quite so… colourfully. But I _have to_ at least believe in Andraste. _I saw her._ And if Andraste is real, then the Maker is real too. Even if he is a bit of a dick."

"There's a slogan for the Inquisition. 'The Maker's a dick, but he's our dick. Go Andraste!'"

Melora laughed and swiped at his arm, glancing back at the open door of the chapel. "Shhh. If Mother Giselle hears you talking like that, she'll glare so hard you may just burst into flames."

"I burst into flames standing next to Andraste's Herald, they may decide I'm chosen by her, too."

"The more, the merrier. We could get shirts!"

Bull gave her a smile, but then tilted his head. "You know… we've talked about a lot of stuff, but I don't think we've ever talked about religion before now. Not really."

She raised her chin, looking him in the eye. "It's not as though I've hidden it."

"I wasn't suggesting you were. Just wondering why you hadn't talked to me about it. I know you've talked about it with Leliana."

"And Cassandra. Um, and Varric and Sera, too. They're all… _We're_ all Andrastian, in our own ways. I've found their insights valuable."

"So because I'm not Andrastian…"

Melora nodded. "I know you don't believe in the Maker and Andraste. I've heard you talking to others about it. Like Sera. And, um, she and I are pretty similar in beliefs, actually. I know you don't really get it. I'm not expecting you to. But I didn't want you to think less of me for it."

Bull frowned, shaking his head. "Hey, you can believe what you want. Can't throw a rock around here without hitting at least one Andrastian. Long as you don't try to get me singing the Chant too, it doesn't bother me."

"Really?"

He blinked confusedly. "Yeah, really. You thought I was gonna decide you were some religious nutjob and stop talking to you or something?"

"I don't know. Not really. But… I know that qunari don't have gods. That the idea of it is ridiculed. I didn't want you to think I was a fool for believing in the Maker."

"Come on, you really thought being religious would put me off? I've lost count of the number of Chantry sisters I've gone to bed with," Bull laughed.

"Sure, but how many of those beds have you been in come morning?"

"Yeah, well, that wasn't because they believed in Andraste."

"But you stay in mine." She tilted her head, looking up at him through the fan of her eyelashes.

"Not always. Sometimes you end up in my bed instead." He gave her a fiendish grin.

Melora narrowed her eyes at him, though the corner of her mouth still turned up in a faint smile. Talking with him sometimes felt so complicated, like dancing, steps forward and back and to the side. And whether they were talking, dancing, fighting, or fucking, she usually preferred to let him lead. She let him have his retreat, and said, "Oh! I wanted to ask you something." Thinking of dancing had reminded her of the talk she'd had earlier with Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen.

"Now there's a surprise," he joked, smirking at her.

Melora grinned and rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes. So, um, there's to be a ball hosted by Empress Celene, at the Winter Palace. It would be a perfect opportunity for an assassin to strike… unless we can stop them. Warnings have been sent, but intercepted, so… the Inquisition must go to Orlais to deal with the matter ourselves. Thanks to the Grand Duke, we've secured an invitation, and… I'd like you to come with me, if you're willing."

There was a long pause, and he looked down at her, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. "You want me… _me_ … to go to a fancy ball in Orlais, hosted by the Empress? Have you seen me?" He gestured to himself with both hands, waving along the sweep of his horns.

She gave him a sweet smile, placing a hand on his chest. "Yes, I have. I've seen all of you, in fact. And as glorious as you are naked, I think you'll look almost as good in a nice formal coat."

Bull gave her a doubtful scowl. "How formal?"

"It's a ball with the Empress. It doesn't get more formal."

"Sounds like a _perfect_ place for a qunari mercenary." He pursed his lips.

Melora smiled, sliding her hand further up his chest to his shoulder, pulling him down to her. He stooped low for a kiss, and she traced her fingertips up the back of his neck, nipping at his bottom lip before she said softly, "A qunari mercenary in silk sewn by the finest tailors, to accentuate his incredible physique. And… perhaps, gold caps at the tip of each horn? Or bands around them. Jewels might be too much… or just right."

Bull rumbled a low laugh. "Trying to woo me with trinkets?"

"I might be. Or I might simply like the idea of seeing you in finery."

"Wait, does this mean you'll be wearing a dress?"

"We're going to be there to stop the assassination of the Empress. I don't believe a dress would be a good choice, if there are asses in need of kicking. We were considering some sort of uniforms, like a military formal jacket and trousers. However much it may stand for compassion, as you say, we do still have the sword on the banners."

Bull actually seemed to pout. "But, boss… you, in silk or velvet and… mmm, lace." His voice grew low and rough, as if the words he spoke were thick as honey on his lips. He pressed in closer to her, "Not the cheap stuff that sticks to the rough spots on your hands, but the soft kind that flows through your fingers like water. You, in layers of petticoats, looking like one of those fancy little Orlesian cakes that looks like it took a week to decorate, but you can eat it in just one bite. I'd go just to see that."

Melora broke into a wide grin. Bull was always so focused on what she needed and wanted, and it delighted her to hear about his own desires. "Oh. Um, well, we can do that anyway. We don't have to go all the way to Orlais for a fancy dress. I'm sure I could have one made otherwise…"

Bull shook his head, biting at his bottom lip for a moment before he spoke. "Nah. I mean… yes, we definitely should do that, too. But… you're the Inquisitor, attending a ball in Orlais. You're gonna have everyone falling over each other just to get a glimpse of you."

He loomed over her, stroking his fingertips up her neck to her chin, and then held her face in the palm of his hand. Maker's breath, he knew _exactly_ how to touch her to fan the flames within her. He surely knew, too, what that low, slow voice did to her as well. "The most powerful woman in the world, center of attention, armored in silk and lace, with everyone wanting to catch her eye… And she's all for me. Well, uh, I mean, I assume. Shit, I probably shouldn't assume."

His hand fell away from her, palm scuffed against the thigh of his loose striped trousers.

Melora tilted her head to look up at him curiously. "Just what are you assuming?"

"I, uh… Well, as long as we're doing this, you've got my complete attention. But if you wanted to spend some time with someone else, for political… whatever. Or just because you wanted to, then--" He had started to stammer. Damn, but he was cute when he did that. It happened so rarely.

"You're telling me that you've no problem with me seducing an Orlesian noble or three, for political gains? Is that what's happening right now?" Melora pushed back a smirk.

Bull gave a gruff snort. "That's not really what I meant."

Melora forced her smile away, though she had to bite at her bottom lip to keep it from returning. "What did you mean, then?"

"Ah, crap, I dunno." He looked off to the side, scratching at the back of his neck. "I really don't have a damn clue what I'm doing. I've read a lot of books and observed, but turns out those are surprisingly unhelpful with this whole…" He made a vague gesture with one hand at her, then himself. "... thing."

"It sounded like you were asking if I wanted to be exclusive with you."

"Yeah, but when you put it like that, it sounds all serious. How did I trip and fall into this conversation?"

She traced a fingertip over his chest. "Would you prefer we go back to talking about religion? Or fluffy dresses?"

"That'd be easier, but you've got that look you get when you wanna ask me about stuff, and that seems to sort of work for us, so you just… do that, I guess."

"Are you sure?" She didn't want to push him, but she couldn't help but smile at the way he had invited her to question him, allowing her to sate her curiosity. It had become a comfortable pattern between them, and Melora tried her best to not pry too deeply or push too hard. He fascinated her, and she wanted to know all of him, to understand the inner workings of his mind and see into the depths of who he was. But she would go no further than he would allow, pressing forward with care. She looked up at him, studying his face, waiting patiently.

"Yeah, go on." He made a little motion with his hand.

Melora nibbled at her bottom lip for a moment and then asked, "What did you mean when you said I have your complete attention?"

"You know…" He exhaled sharply through his nose. "This is all… new and unfamiliar. Good, but… takes some getting used to. And I'd rather just focus on you. This stuff is complicated enough as it is."

"Complicated? It's only as complicated as we make it."

Bull laughed wryly. "You only say that because it's normal to you. Qunari are only told of people doing stuff like this as a cautionary tale, and most never even see it, as they never live outside the Qun. It's like… trying to understand foreign holidays. Everyone from there already know what it's about, how to decorate for it, what to cook, what to wear, how you act, what you say on those days. And you can read about it, and watch, but until you're actually in it, you really don't get it. Gotta grease up the wheel of cheese and go chasing it down a hill before you can understand what it's all about."

"They do that in Ostwick!"

Bull grinned. "I know. Heard Blackwall talking about it. Why do they do that, anyway?"

"It's traditional."

"Right," he laughed.

Melora bit at her bottom lip, looking up at him with a little smile. "So what you're saying is…?"

"Right now, yours is the only cheese I'm greasing."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Why's that so surprising?"

She shook her head a bit. "Because you've been so casual and… prolific about sex before."

Bull slid his hands down her arms, smiling at her. "I can be casual and prolific about it with you."

"You know that's not what I mean."

"Yeah. I know." He gave a shrug, his great shoulders rolling back. "But, really, I'm with you so much, I doubt I'd have time to entertain anyone else. And I don't think I'd really want to right now."

Melora smiled, peering at him from the corner of her eye. "Come now, I've seen the way you look at Dorian."

Bull snorted a laugh. "Yeah, well, he is damn pretty. He knows it, too. But what he needs is more than a one-time tumble. And I don't think he'd be willing to share."

"No, I don't think he would be, either. But… just so you know, I would be willing. To share, I mean." She looked away from his face then, frowning, her lips twisting as she thought. "I don't want to hold you back from being who you are and doing what you want."

He arched a craggy eyebrow, smirking. "You think who I am is someone who needs to bone random barmaids and pretty mages?"

"Isn't that what you've been going along doing though? I've heard the talk. You've had most of the kitchen staff in Skyhold."

"Well, yeah. Get in good with the people with the food, get extra pies."

Melora laughed, picking a bit of dead leaf from her sleeve. "You're not doing it _just_ for pie… Are you?"

He grinned and shrugged. "Not _just_. I like having sex. It's fun. Good for the body and for the mind. Don't think I'd like celibacy much. That'd be… bad. Damn." He looked up, tilting his head back as he boggled at the thought, then shook his head. "Yeah, that I wouldn't like to do. But this, us? I'm good with this. Better than good. You don't need to worry about me. Got a pretty mage to bone, and having a damn good time doing it."

Melora smiled up at him, but her eyebrows were still drawn together in a frown. "If that changes, you'll tell me?"

"Of course. But… what about you?" He ran his hands down her shoulders. "What I was trying to say earlier… if you wanted to be with someone else, too. Might be useful to you in certain circumstances. Or just… if you want to. I can give you what you need, but if you have other wants, that's alright too."

Melora tilted her head as she thought. "I hadn't even considered that. There's… I mean, of course, there are people I find attractive for various reasons. I believe we discussed that at length over some sort of vile drinks once. But I can't actually see myself…" She was the one stammering now, and she stopped for a moment to gather her thoughts. "Maker help me, I am having a better time at the end of the world than I've had my whole life. I never expected any of this… or to enjoy it all so much. And you and me… we smash some skulls, down some drinks, laugh until our pants fall off… and then the real fun starts. I can't imagine enjoying myself this much with anyone else, clothes on or off."

They shared a grin between them, and she continued, "And as for politically… I don't think I could, even if I wanted to. I'm not a good enough liar to make it through the whole thing without pulling some terribly unpleasant faces. With no light, maybe, but even then… I don't think so."

"Alright. Well, you decide otherwise, I don't think I'm the jealous type. At least… I'm pretty sure I'm not. And if you ever want help with hiding facial expressions, I can teach you how to do that."

"So I can more easily bed Orlesian nobles?"

"So you can be a better _Inquisitor_. You're too easy to read. Like it or not, you're in politics now. You need to have more control over your reactions, learn how to turn them off or convincingly fake something else. Someone with an army behind him pisses you off, you might need to finish that conversation without looking at him like you think he's the dumbest asshole you ever met."

"You can teach me to do that?"

"I can teach you some tricks, yeah. Takes years to learn how to do it properly, but there's some basic stuff I can show you."

Melora nodded. "Please. It sounds useful."

"Alright, if you want. But only if you wear a dress to the Winter Palace."

"Does that mean you'll go, then?"

"Shit, yeah. Like I'd say no to that. Assassin-hunting in a palace sounds like a good time, as long as there'll be food."

"Thanks, Bull." She paused, rubbing at the back of her neck, her skin slick with sweat. "So, what else can you teach me?"

He laughed, the sound turning devious. "I can think of a few things."

"That I can use with my pants on…"

"You know, that doesn't narrow it down near as much as you think." He grinned at her. "There's plenty of things I know that you might find useful. I can try to show you some of it."

"That thing you do, where you look at someone and know their profession by the callouses on their hands and the stains on their boots?"

"I can try, sure."

"What else?"

Bull considered this for a moment, then took a step forward, leaning in towards her, looming even larger than before. Melora did not have the facial control to hold back the widening of her eyes, the dilation of her pupils, the curl at the edge of her mouth. She knew Bull saw all of these things.

He said, "I can teach you how to read motives. How to understand what someone wants, to figure out what they think of you, test it to be sure, and to exploit it."

There was a twitch of a frown between her brows, a loss of eye contact for a moment. "Exploit it how?"

"Say you're talking to some stuffed shirt with a grand title. You need something from him, like information. It's something he doesn't wanna give up. There may be a few ways to get it out of him, and the ways available if I were to do the asking would be very different from if you did. His perception of you matters. Not just your titles but the person standing in front of him asking. What's he think when he looks at you? How can you tell? What things could you do to test once you've got a guess? You've got to be able to read his face, the way he moves, what he looks at, what he touches, what he says. Word choices, pauses, the way he steers the conversation. All of it tells a story far more than he realizes."

Melora backed up a step toward the wall. She flicked her tongue over her lips, biting at the edge of her mouth before asking, "This stuffed shirt. How would I exploit his motivations?"

Bull looked down at her, his eye flicking over her, like he was reading her. "People underestimate you. They see you, they think because you're small, that you're younger than you are, less experienced, more innocent. They think you're just some dumb kid, they might disregard you, think you're incompetent. Or they'll see you as an easy target. Or maybe they'll get protective, try to help you. However they react, they're going to reveal a lot about themselves in the way they do it, their motivations for steering you in a particular direction, that sort of thing. You recognize it, you can find an opening or gain an advantage."

"Is this a Ben-Hassrath thing?"

"Yes."

"You think they'd be happy with one of their spies teaching the Inquisitor those Ben-Hassrath tricks?" Melora lifted her chin a little, her eyes glittering.

"They're a long way away, and besides, you do this right, nobody'll ever realize you're doing it."

"You would."

Bull ran his thumb along her lower lip, looking down into her eyes. "Yes," he said, "I would. I'd like to see you do that. Best some fancy noble just by figuring out their game, and get what you want out of them without making a threat or drawing a blade."

Melora flicked the tip of her tongue against his thumb and smirked at him. "It sounds as though I have much to learn. Perhaps you can give me my first lesson later? You still have a snow dragon to build, don't you?"

"Krem won't mind waiting a little while. He's discussing battle strategy with Harding, and I have a feeling he won't mind if I take a bit longer than expected. Let me help you with the rest of this." Bull glanced back at the large pile of rotted wood and rusted metal piled by the door. "I can get the big crap out of here, and then we can all go kick some snow around for half an hour, decide it's too much effort to build a whole damn dragon, dump snow down the back of each others' pants, and then run back to the tavern for mulled wine to warm up."

Melora laughed softly, and then paused. "You want to help me clean the chapel?" She gave him a curious look.

"Hey, I don't have to believe in Andraste to help my…" He stopped, and glanced away for a moment, looking back out of the corner of his eye. "Uh. You."

Melora beamed helplessly. A possessive pronoun, and not the first time. Not drunk this time, either. "Your, uh, me?"

Bull shuffled his feet, smiling as he rubbed a palm over the back of his neck, and said, "Yeah." Just one little word, but said with so much warmth that Melora broke into a wide grin, catching her bottom lip with a tooth as she gazed up at him, wondering if fucking in a chapel was forbidden in the Chant anywhere.

She stood on her tiptoes, tilting her face up to him, inviting a kiss. He leaned in close and asked, "So, where do you want it?"

Melora's eyes went wide and she dropped her heels back to the floor, blinking. "I, um, what?"

Bull flashed her a grin with sharp, shining teeth, and then turned toward the chapel door. With one hand, he hefted a huge chunk of wood, the remains of part of a long bench that had taken her ages to drag to the corner. In the other hand, he gathered all the old ironwork, save a few broken bits of hinge she could sweep up with the dead leaves. "I've got a whole lot of wood here," he said, eyeing her with a sly smile. "Where do you want it?"

Melora snorted a laugh, her eyes following the shifting landscape of scars across his skin as he moved. For a moment, she forgot how to speak. "Ah, um. That's… You can… outside and to the right, please," she stammered.

"As you wish, boss." Bull gave her a smile and then made for the doorway.

Melora turned back to her broom, to get the newly cleared area swept too, when she heard a low _clonk_ and a muttered swear; he'd hit his horns on the door frame. Melora grinned, pulled the cloth up over her face, and got back to work.


	20. Chapter 20

Bull lay back against a stack of pillows, lounging in Melora's big comfortable bed. Melora curled at his side, her head on his lap, facing his feet so he could toy with her hair. His fingers slipped through the strands, feeling them spool out smooth and soft between his fingers. She had damn nice hair.

Holding a book open with the other hand, propped on his belly, Bull had been reading aloud to her for a while, stopping only occasionally to lay the book down and take a sip from the huge mug of cocoa beside the bed.

The fire had burned low. He considered getting up to put another log on, but he couldn't move without disturbing Melora. And she seemed so comfortable, curled up beside him with her head on his leg. She breathed slow and deep, and he wondered if she was asleep, but he was almost to the end of the chapter, so he'd continued for a while, till he got to the end.

"'In fact,'" he read, voice soft and low, the one he knew she found soothing, "'There was no sign that anyone had been in the house at all until they found the room whose door had been torn from the hinges. Inside, the comte lay in a pool of blood, one hand clutching a loaded crossbow, a dagger hilt protruding from his back.'"

He paused, watching the rise and fall of her chest, and added, "And then, the sleepy little Inquisitor fell fast asleep."

Bull closed the book and set it aside. He finished off the rest of his cocoa in a few sips.

Then he just sat for a few minutes, weaving a piece of her hair through his fingers, thinking. He was in no hurry to move. He ran a fingertip along the back of Melora's neck, brushing the hair back from her skin, tracing the reddened places there where he'd bitten her. There would be bruises there tomorrow. They would be hidden under her hair. But he'd know they were there. Bull smiled to himself, and said, still in that same soft voice, "Qunari have a lot of stories, too. Not usually novels like this, but stories the Tamas tell the little ones. And the ones that grow up to be Tamas themselves tell it to their little ones, and the stories continue on through the years. Some of them are almost as old as the Qun itself. They're fables, mostly. There's also lots of epic stories about big, famous battles, all about the heroes and warriors, their glorious victories, their fights against all manner of beasts and men. That story about the dragon and the snake, that was the fable kind. Stories for the little kids to teach 'em to eat their vegetables and share and stuff."

Bull paused again then, frowning at himself, looking down at his hands. The fire burned lower. "There's another one they tell to the older kids. A story about two warriors who became friends, a commander in the _antaam_ and his next in command. They're leading a unit ordered to clear a dragon out of a cave on the edge of some farmland. Yeah, it's another story about a dragon. We've got a lot of those. It's…" Bull laughed softly to himself, and he took a piece of her hair, separating it into sections and braiding it loosely as he spoke. "...It's such a qunari story. All about teamwork and overcoming obstacles through working together, everybody's strengths and weaknesses complementing each other so they all become perfect parts of a greater whole… Crap like that. There's all this stuff that happens to them in this cave. It's a huge cave system, see. They lose a couple guys along the way, and there's this part with a ravine and an old bridge… And every time one of 'em dies, it's all for the good of the group and their important mission, duty and honor and all that shit. And each of 'em goes out yelling, _'Nehraa Quuuuuuun!'_ as they fall into a ravine or whatever. You know, I've seen a lot of guys die, and usually what they're yelling at the end is, _'Auuuugh!'_ "

Bull snorted a little under his breath. He'd gotten to the end of the braid, and he took it out again. "So, finally," he continued, "The ones that are left, they make it to the dragon, and there's this huge battle in this underground cavern. Don't ask me how they were supposed to see underground. The Tama who told us this one always said 'glowing bats, obviously' when I asked and to not interrupt the story. That was always my favourite part, though, the battle. That Tama, she was the best at stories. Did different voices for everyone, and she did this huge roar when they got to the dragon's cave that always made the littler kids scream, and the bigger ones laugh because they knew it was coming."

Bull gave a little chuckle, his smile lopsided and wistful.

"So, they killed the dragon, of course," he went on. "Lose another guy in the process, ' _Nehraa Quuuun!'_ , and so on, and the guys left look around… by the light of the glowing bats, I guess, and they realize there's all this stuff everywhere. Ancient treasures, gold, jewels… And they're tempted, but it's not theirs to take. They are _antaam_ and their treasure is their victory. They'll report back and laborers can come haul it out, use it for payment in trades. But before they go, the commander stops and takes one thing: a single tooth from the dragon. It's his by right. And then they report back that their mission is a success, and soon after, they learn that they're both getting promoted, which means they'll probably be reassigned. They may see each other again… or maybe they won't. So the commander takes the tooth and breaks it in half, and gives half to his friend, so they can each wear a piece. That way, no matter how far apart life may take them, they would always be united through that tooth, and their shared victory."

He let out a slow breath through his nose, scratching at the side of his beard with his free hand. "There's lots more stories like that. Bonds of friendship forged in the heat of battle. And there's more than a few stories that deal with the parts of qunari nature that the Qun demands we carve out of ourselves and discard. The parts that the Qun considers wild, uncivilized, and damaging. But what there aren't are any tales of legendary warriors going anywhere beyond friendship. Those… those are different stories."

Bull flicked his tongue across his lips. The fire burned lower still, just glowing embers in crumbling, ash-frosted logs.

"It's not an unknown thing to the Qun," he said, his voice even quieter than before, and he frowned as he spoke. "Before the _Ashkaari Koslun_ , qunari… well, what we were before, people lived in families like they do here. And we've… changed since then, but some things you can't breed out of people entirely. A lot of people still have urges, get drawn to each other. So we've got stories about that, too. More like warnings, really. Qunari romance stories are always, _always_ tragedies. There's a body count, and it's often innocent bystanders. Or one of those involved would die, and the other would rededicate themselves to the Qun and learn a hard lesson. But there's not ever any happy endings. It's _always_ bad, and you end up feeling pity and anger at the dumb fools who tried something so selfish and reckless."

Bull looked down at the sleeping woman on his lap, her body completely relaxed against him, the mark of his teeth on the back of her neck, and a mark of a very different kind on her left hand. His gaze traced the lines of her, the curve of her back and shoulder to the arc of her neck, and he wanted to reach out and pull her to him, to hug her tightly to him and forget the world outside. But she was so peaceful, he didn't want to wake her, knowing how poorly she often slept, night after night waking moaning and whimpering, tears wet against his chest till she drifted off again. So he just sat there watching her sleep, and he dropped to a mumble. "I don't know what I'm doing, how any of this is supposed to work. Every time I kiss you, I feel like I should be looking over my shoulder to make sure nobody's watching. And every time I get something from my contacts, I think… is this the one where they're gonna call me back?"

Shaking his head, Bull set his jaw and took a deep breath. Mostly to himself, he said, "I never worried about that before."

He gave a sigh and started to shift his legs underneath her head, leaning forward to slip his arms around her as gently as he could, so he could lay her beside him at the head of the bed. She made a soft noise, relaxed in his embrace, and he paused, holding her close, looking down at her sleeping face. The flickering firelight danced across her cheeks, golden light and shadow painted there, and he leaned down to kiss her forehead.

Wait. Flickering firelight? Bull glanced to the lamp, the flame shivering despite being encircled in glass. Then he looked to the hearth. Where before the logs had been only embers, there were little tongues of flame there now, and they all seemed to jump and dance as if pulled by an unknown wind that somehow blew in a regular rhythm.

Bull looked down at Melora again, angling his body to change the way the light fell, watching her pulse on her throat. That same regular rhythm.

Tilting his head to one side, Bull grinned, snorting the smallest laugh, and then abruptly dropped her onto the bed beside him.

Melora landed with a _fwomph_ in the soft feather bed, yelping with surprise, and she looked up at him, baffled, hair falling across her face.

Bull smirked down at her. "Y'know," he said, planting his hands on the bed on either side of her, "I think I'd be pissed if I wasn't so _proud_ right now. You almost got me." He'd been teaching her to control her breathing and movements, and she'd been learning well, but to fool him? He was impressed.

Melora looked up at him sheepishly. "I'm… I'm really sorry. I was just so comfortable at first. I didn't mean you to think I was asleep, and then you did, but the things you were talking about were so interesting that I just kept listening and then it went on too long and it would've been awkward if I'd spoken up then so I just had to go with it at that point and…"

The stream of words tumbled from her lips, silenced when Bull rolled atop her and pressed his lips to hers. He felt her mouth draw taut in a smile against his, and he rumbled a low, pleasant sound. At least now he didn't have to worry about waking her…

Bull moved to kiss at her neck, flicking his tongue against her skin to taste the salt there. Melora tipped her head the other way, exposing her throat to him. He could feel her pulse on his tongue, and he didn't have to look at the hearth to know that the fire still moved in time with that rhythm. He started to work his way down, but she squeezed his shoulders and said softly, "Hey…"

Bull lifted his head, looking down at her. "Hm?"

Melora placed both palms on his cheeks, fingertips stroking at his skin, and she looked up into his face with a strange seriousness. "You don't ever have to leave," she said. "There's always a place for you here, no matter what."

He could feel her heartbeat through her mark pressed to his cheek, thrumming in time with her blood, felt his own heart pounding in his chest in the same rhythm. Fire, mark, her blood, his blood, all pulsed to the same drumbeat.

_You don't ever have to leave._

Bull's brow twisted into a stricken frown. How much he wished that were true.

_No matter what._

If only she knew...

Pushing it all away with a slight shake of his head, Bull nudged Melora's legs apart with his knee and kissed her, hard. He had no words sufficient for a response. But he could still answer using his tongue...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could find the post that inspired the bit about the dragon's tooth story, about how it wasn't really a thing, just something from a story, but wee baby Bull stuffed the thought deep into his heart and kept it there - Tumblr is a bitch to search and it was just a wee snippet and I'm failing at keywords. I like the idea of it - like dragons are gonna be common enough for it to be a real tradition, or that any Qunari except the fighters would ever have a chance at making it happen. If you know what I'm talking about, send me a link?
> 
> Also, thanks for being patient with updates. I'm still working away, I'm just really, really slow. Sorry. :(


	21. Chapter 21

A brisk breeze coursed through the open windows of the Herald's Rest, spiraling up through the levels of the tavern and out the hole-riddled ceiling, dragging the flickering flames of the candles on the tables. A fire crackled orange and gold in the hearth, and the ovens in the back room filled the air with the smell of roasting nuts and baking bread. The doors stood open, regular patrons trickling in by ones and twos.

Bull had a bowl of roasted nuts sitting beside him to nibble on as he relaxed in his usual spot with his legs stretched out in front of him, leaning on the arm of the bench. Beside Bull, Krem perched in his usual way on the back of his chair, feet on the seat.

Bull raised two fingers to get the barmaid's attention, leaning forward. "Two more, please?" Bull asked.

The barmaid swished over and leaned across Bull's shoulder, pressing her full, soft chest against his arm as she took her sweet time gathering the empty mugs from the empty barrel that served as a table in the corner. "Can I get you… anything else?" she asked, her voice sultry.

Bull gave her a pleasant smile but then sat back, putting some air between the two of them and said, "No thanks. I'm good."

She gave him a dramatic pout. "You sure about that?"

Bull nodded, still smiling. "Yeah, we're good here, just the drinks, please."

The barmaid huffed a sigh and flipped her hair back from her shoulder before stalking off, hips swaying as if to show him what he was missing.

Krem looked over, mouth agape. "The fuck was that, Chief?"

"What?" Bull put his shoulders back, nonchalant.

"You've been eyeing that one since she started working here, and you've _never_ backed away from anyone trying to rub their tits on you. Especially tits like those. Damn." Krem shook his head, leaning forward over his knees, the wooden chair creaking beneath him. "You finally hit your limit and retire from sex?"

Bull snorted. "Hah, no! That's _never_ going to happen."

"Well, what, then? Cos that was just _weird_."

Bull let out a long breath. "I'm, uh, _in a relationship._ " The end of the sentence was just a mumble.

Krem stared, blinking. "I know I can't have heard _that_ right."

"Yeah, you heard me." Bull set his mouth in a firm line, crossed his arms over his chest and very deliberately stared at Krem.

Krem laughed. "You're shitting me, right?"

Bull still hadn't looked away. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

"Uhhh… No, you don't." Krem chuckled nervously, scratching at his ear. "But you… I mean, _you…_ "

Bull looked away and waved a hand as he grumbled, "Yeah, yeah, I know. Shut up."

"But… who? Wait, is it just one who, or did you go and get yourself a harem?"

Bull grinned and relaxed back into the corner of the bench, one elbow on the armrest. "That's not a bad idea, but no."

"Well, then who-- _ohhhhhhh!_ " Krem leaned his head back, mouth open, nodding. "Oh, of course. You're banging the Inquisitor! Well, it's about damn time someone did!"

"Yeah, well…" Bull rumbled, almost looking a little sheepish.

"So, wait, it's actually… you two are… You said 'relationship', didn't you? Or at least, it sounded like you did. She buying you flowers and dinner and shiny baubles to hang from your nipples, or what?"

"Something like that."

"But you don't--"

" _I know,"_ Bull growled.

"You get her pregnant or something?"

Bull sat up straighter in his seat. "What? No! _No_. Shit, Krem."

Krem snickered, resting his forearms on his thighs, and then shrugged a bit. "Well, then. Huh. Can't say I'm not surprised, but not really surprised it's her if it's anyone. She's been cuddling up to you going, ' _tell me more about the qunari_ ' for a while now. But still, bit weird to think about you having a _girlfriend._ " Krem drew out the last word in an exaggerated tone.

"You're telling me."

"So, what, she's _special_ or something, then?"

Bull's voice got a little lower. "Yeah, she is." He said nothing more, just smiled.

"Hah! Look at that. Chief's going soft!" Krem cackled and slapped his knee. "Can't wait to tell the rest of the boys."

Bull shot Krem a prickly look. "Hey, don't go getting all excited. Not sure what this thing is. Don't even know if it really is something."

"It's clearly enough of something that you're not letting friendly barmaids rub their tits on you. So you two are exclusive then?"

"Yeah. At least for now. Figure it's complicated enough, me and her, without anyone else involved."

"You really do have a proper girlfriend. Maker's balls. That's… So how long've you two been…?"

"Having sex?"

Krem rolled his eyes. "Nah, that's the boring part. You do that with everyone. I mean the other stuff. The things that make it a relationship and not just someone you're banging regularly. Err… it _is_ more than just banging regularly, right? Because if not, I gotta break it to you, that's not--"

"Yes, it's more than that," Bull said quickly, cutting Krem off. He took a deep breath through his nose, looking down at his hands. "She's good for me. She's just… good, period. And as for how long, uh, I dunno how you define where these things start."

"Usually I'd say first kiss or sex could count, but it's _you_ , so… when would _you_ say?"

Bull settled back in the corner of the bench, rolling his shoulders. "Uhh. Well, only really since she's been Inquisitor. But kind of a little before that, too."

"That's still been a while. Months now, plural. So, what, it's some kind of secret, then?"

"No, it's not a secret. It's just… Bah. I dunno how this crap works. Do we make an announcement? Tell one friend and have them tell the rest? Am I supposed to carve our names on the Inquisition bulletin board?"

Krem shrugged. "Fuck if I know. Pretty sure you're just supposed to sit 'em on your lap in public and let everyone figure it out from that."

"Don't think that tactic would work so well for me. I usually end up with a barmaid or three on my lap by the end of the evening anyway."

"I think it only counts if you're cuddling and being disgustingly cute, not whispering dirty things in their ear while you've got your hand up their skirt."

Bull snorted. "That's no fun."

"I don't make the rules, Chief. But, hey, if you're happy with her, then I'm happy for you." Krem smiled, and then stood up on the seat of his chair. He craned his neck to look around the tavern, and grumbled down at Bull, "Did you have to piss off the barmaid, though? We still have to drink here."

"Yeah, I'll go see about that next round," Bull said, and he pushed himself up from his seat.

Krem sat back down on the back of his chair, then gave Bull a wry smirk. "Get me some of them bready things with the cheese on 'em while you're at it, will you? Put 'em on your _girlfriend's_ tab. I'm sure she can afford it."

Bull huffed and rolled his eye, heading off to smooth things over with the busty barmaid, ignoring Krem yelling after him, "Hey, she knit you a gigantic sweater yet?"


	22. Chapter 22

"Hey, Dagna." Melora called to the arcanist as she approached the workbenches in the undercroft. Dagna perched on a stool, hunched over her workbench with a strange tool in her hand. Melora had no idea what Dagna was working on, but it looked complex, consisting of a stack of many incredibly thin, circular layers of metal foil held together with tiny clamps around the edges, and a center pin like the axle on a wheel. Dagna touched the tool she held to the edge of the circle in intervals between the clamps, but it didn't seem to be having any effect that Melora could see. Melora leaned in a bit closer, trying to puzzle out what Dagna was doing.

Dagna looked up from her work, smiling at Melora. "Oh, hey, Inquisitor. Good morning. Wait. Afternoon?"

"Almost evening."

"Really? Well, then, good almost evening!" Dagna nodded, gesturing with the tool in her hand.

"Sorry, am I interrupting? That looks delicate. I can come back."

"This? Nah, it's not delicate at all." Dagna put down the tool and picked up the little circle of metal pieces. Bouncing it twice in her palm, she flung it forcefully at the flagstone floor beside the stool. A few of the clamps went pinging away under the workbench. Dagna looked back up at Melora, smiling pleasantly. "See?"

"But it just… There's bits over there." Melora pointed, blinking.

"Yeah, it's meant to do that. It's going to be a rune of destruction, so it needs to be roughed up a little before it can work." Dagna hopped down off the stool and bent to pick up the remains of the thing. Several of the bottom layers of metal were bent at odd angles. Dagna examined it with a keen eye before flinging it onto the workbench. She clasped her hands in front of her expectantly, cheeks drawn up round and pink with an infectiously cheerful smile, and asked, "Something I can do for you?"

Melora couldn't help but return that smile. Dagna hadn't been with the Inquisition long, but Melora had made a habit of stopping by whenever she was visiting the undercroft, just to see what Dagna was working on. There was something fascinating about Dagna's skills, how she skirted around the edges of magic with what she did. It made Melora wonder just how powerful Dagna's creations could be if she worked together with a mage, creating arcane items more powerful than either one could make on their own.

Pulling her braid over one shoulder, Melora got to business and said, "Well, um, I don't know if you can help me, but I think you're the best person to ask. But first, I need to know, can you keep a secret?"

Dagna rocked on her heels. "Half of what I know is secrets, and I know a _lot_ of things. What kind of secret is it? The scary kind?" She leaned in, and her grin widened. "The dirty kind? Or, ooh, the kind with hundreds and hundreds of tiny legs?"

Melora tilted her head a fraction, eyeing Dagna's wiggling fingers. "Um, none of those, I think? Just the please-don't-tell-anyone kind."

"Oh, well, that's fine too. My lips are sealed. Or, they would be, if I didn't need to open them to carry on this conversation with you." Dagna gave a little chuckle and shook her head at herself. "Your secret's safe with me, Inquisitor. What is it?"

"I… Um... I have this." Melora slipped her hand into her coat pocket and pulled out the dragon's tooth she'd tucked inside. She held it out to Dagna. "I need it cut in half and made into something wearable. Like a necklace, I suppose. Well, _necklaces_ , rather."

Dagna took the tooth and turned it over as she examined it, taking a few steps toward the open side of the undercroft, toward better light, where the waterfall roared and covered everything in a fine mist that slickened the stone floor. Melora followed, waiting for Dagna to say something.

"Huh," Dagna said finally. "You've got a whole skull full of dragon's teeth hanging out there. Why cut into this? Why not just have two whole ones?"

In fact, the skull hanging in the hall was missing one tooth. This tooth.

"Um, I don't really know," Melora said. "But it's for a specific… _thing_. And as far as I know, for that, it needs to be one tooth, cut in half, made into two separate necklaces." At least, that's what it had sounded like from what Bull had told her.

"Then do you want it lengthwise, like this, or…?" Dagna drew her fingernail in a line over the tooth's surface.

"Yes," Melora said. "Lengthwise, two equal pieces."

Dagna tapped at the tooth and made a little _hmm_ sound. "Dragon tooth is quite a hard material, but I've got some fine saws that can do the job. I'll need to smooth the cut surface, or I can cover it in metal. And it'll need a metal cap on the end to attach the bail. That's the little hangy bit. I think you'll want another cap on the tip as well, as I doubt you want it to stab whoever's wearing it. Well, unless you do, I don't know. Oh! You want anything special for the metal parts?"

"Could it be done in dawnstone?"

"That's a bit of an unusual choice, but, yeah, we've got plenty of it in the storeroom. Sure is pretty stuff."

Melora gave a soft little smile, looking down at her hands. "Yes, I know."

"The contrast of the pale pink will look real nice with this sort of chestnut colour of the tooth. Hmm, so how about engraving, symbols, anything like that?"

"You mean on the dawnstone parts?" Melora considered this. Bull's patch had some sort of abstract wave-like design, and his leather belt and shoulder harness were tooled with similarly swirling shapes. He was a man who appreciated a little decoration. "Some sort of design would be good. Stylized dragons, maybe?"

"Seems too on-the-nose, don't you think? How about some kind of flower motif? I'm good at flowers."

Melora grinned, nodding. "Flowers. I like that. Can you do different kinds?"

Dagna scoffed in mock indignance, putting her hands on her hips. " _Can I do different kinds?_ Of course I can! If I know what it looks like or you can get me a picture, I can put whatever you want on it."

"Heh, very well then. Um, hmm… How about roses?"

"With or without thorns?"

Melora's hand went to her throat, her thumb slipping beneath the edge of the lace shawl she wore gathered around her neck and shoulders like a scarf. There was a sore place there: a deep ache when she moved just so, a bruised place shaded purple and pink beneath her skin, two arcs marking where Bull's teeth had been. She knew there was another on her shoulder, and a fan of marks along her thigh from thick fingers dug in hard. "With thorns," Melora said with a faint smile.

"Gimme a second, I have an idea." Dagna hopped back up on the stool and riffled through a pile of scrap paper before locating a stub of charcoal. She hunched over the paper, scribbling madly, the edge of her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. Melora stood back, watching quietly, until Dagna stopped suddenly and said, "Here, how's this?" Dagna thrust the scrap of paper at Melora.

Melora took it, and the moment she looked down at the drawing, her eyes went wide. Dagna's sketch was rough and blurred from the charcoal dust, but incredibly beautiful, the stems of roses described by arcing, sinuous branching lines that looked like flowing water or tongues of flame. The flowers studding the branches were stylized and angular, faceted like jewels. And everywhere, Dagna had drawn wickedly sharp, abundant thorns.

"Oh," Melora hushed, breathless. "This is _wonderful_ , Dagna. I knew you were talented, but I had no idea you could do such beautiful things too. Yes, this is perfect. Exactly this, please!"

"Well, I mean, it won't be _exactly,"_ Dagna said, taking the sketch back and biting at the corner of her lip as she looked at it. "It's going to have to work wrapped around the tooth so I'll have to adjust things here and there. Well, and it'll be cleaner, of course. Oh, and if you like, I can do cutouts of the dawnstone, like the petals of the flowers and behind the branches, so you can see the colour of the dragon's tooth underneath. It'll look a little like lace."

Melora nodded emphatically. "Yes, lace!" She said it a little too loudly, and as she glanced around, she saw a few heads raise from workstations around the undercroft, curious eyes squinting toward her and Dagna. Melora dipped her head sheepishly as Harrit and the others went back to their work.

Dagna snickered. "I thought this was supposed to be a secret, Inquisitor."

Melora laughed nervously, twisting the end of her braid over her finger. "Sorry, that was just a really good suggestion. Lacy bits, please. And… this isn't for the Inquisitor. Not official business, I mean. Just Melora, please."

"As you like. Just let me…" She made a few notes at the bottom of the paper in a blank spot. "This doesn't look too difficult. You're heading to Orlais soon, aren't you? I heard Lady Vivienne talking to someone about dress fittings for the ball. I can probably have this ready for you before you leave."

"Really? That's in nine days time. Don't you have other things you need to do?"

Dagna waved a hand dismissively, her fingers smeared with charcoal. "You don't keep me nearly busy enough for how much you're paying me."

Melora smiled. "Apparently so. Still, I really appreciate your help, truly. Thank you."

"You mind me asking why this is a secret? Doesn't seem so weird to me. But, then, not a lot seems weird to me." Dagna scratched idly at her cheek with one finger, leaving a little smear of charcoal there.

Melora considered telling her about the spot of charcoal but decided against it. It seemed to fit the eccentric arcanist, and it looked damn cute. "It's for a gift, and I don't want the surprise spoiled by wagging tongues," Melora said. "I know how people talk around here. Sneeze at breakfast and by lunch people whose name you don't even know are offering handkerchiefs for your cold."

"I suppose I probably shouldn't ask who for, even though I'm dying to." Dagna clasped her hands together before her, toeing the ground, her whole body twisting with energetic interest.

Melora pressed her lips together, then leaned in and whispered, "It's for the Iron Bull. Well, half of it is. The other half is for me."

"Really?!" Dagna bounced and clapped cheerfully, voice reverberating in the stone chamber.

Melora waved her hands frantically. " _Shhh!"_

"Oh, right! Sorry!" Dagna dropped her voice and pressed both her hands to her cheeks, leaving more little smudges on her skin. "Oh, wow. Wait, is it just a gift, or is it a _giiiiiiiift?_ "

Reluctantly, Melora said, "The latter, I think?"

Dagna made a tiny squeaking noise from between her fingers, nearly vibrating with excitement, and then she began talking so fast, Melora could barely keep up. "Eeeee! That is super great! I mean, I had shipped you two together, like a lot, almost as much as you and Cullen, but he might be better with Josephine, or Cassandra? Or maybe Varric with Cassandra? I've got it all plotted out in my notebook but I've only got a few little things written and they're nothing concrete, but this, I just... Yay!"

Dagna froze, her grin far too large, and she laughed nervously. "Heh. Heh heh, I mean… I'll just get right to work on this for you and stop talking! Right now! Right, then, see you later!"

Melora blinked rapidly, staring at Dagna. She hadn't understood half of that, the words spoken in such an enthusiastic blur. Finally, she gave up trying to figure it out, shaking her head. "Well, um. Thanks, Dagna. I'll talk to you later."

Dagna smiled and nodded furiously and turned back to her workstation, and Melora started toward the door. But after a few steps she stopped and glanced back over her shoulder.

"Hey, Dagna?" Melora asked.

Dagna looked up. "Hm?"

"You eaten anything today?"

"What?" Dagna blinked and then thought for a moment before shaking her head. "I… don't think I have, actually. I've been working on this rune and forgot breakfast. And lunch. I had tea at one point, but…" Dagna looked over at the workbench and then stuck her finger in a mug half full of tea long since gone cold. "Oh."

"It's just about time for dinner. I was going to get something to eat and then head over to the tavern, if you want to come along. If you've been working all day, you could use a meal, and a drink. Have a break?"

"Oh. That's very kind of you. The tavern? I, um…" Dagna looked down at the floor.

Melora recognized that look, the apprehension at going somewhere so crowded. "Krem, Sera, and I meet up there sometimes in the evenings when we're all at Skyhold. We've got a nice little spot by the window where the light's good, and we get together for a little craft circle. Sera and I knit, and Krem sews. You should join us." Melora couldn't help but put the slightest bit more emphasis on Sera's name than was strictly necessary, but she managed not to smirk when she did. Dagna's name had come up more than once at the craft circle, and it was usually Sera doing the mentioning.

Dagna's round, pink cheeks drew up in a delighted smile. "Well, that does sound like a good time. Sure, alright. I don't really do fiber crafts though…"

"You seem to do all sorts of things. It doesn't have to be soft stuff. And you don't _have_ to bring something. You're welcome to just come along for fun. But if you have anything portable you want to work on…"

Dagna was already scooping up things from her workbench and shoving them into a bag, and she turned to Melora with a grin. "Let's go!"

As they walked out of the undercroft together, Melora turned to Dagna and asked, "So, you have a page for you and Sera in that notebook of yours?"


	23. Chapter 23

Melora stood outside the Herald's Rest, face tilted upward to look at the sign hanging above the tavern's front door. Someone had beautifully painted a portrait of Andraste, radiant in white, carrying an unconscious figure wrapped in a pale shroud, left hand a burst of green light. Melora looked down at her own left hand and frowned, the light shining from her palm faint in the orange-pink glow of sunset. How the tale of the Herald of Andraste had grown, already transforming to myth though even a year had not yet passed since the Conclave.

Her hands fell to her trouser pockets, feeling the outline of the objects within. In each pocket lay half of a dragon's tooth and a loop of chain.

Much of the Inquisition would leave in the morning for Halamshiral, and though it was not yet nightfall, the tavern already buzzed with activity. Those not directly involved in last minute preparations for the journey were getting themselves a few drinks and preparing a headache to take with them come morning. Many of those staying behind at Skyhold had gathered here too, buying a drink or three for departing friends. Melora had been in the tavern just last night. Warmth and laughter spilled from the open door. Yet now, she felt rooted to the spot, stomach twisting and her mouth dry.

Melora heard someone coming up behind her, and she turned to see Krem looking at her with raised eyebrows.

Krem glanced toward the doorway, which Melora was blocking. "You going in, or…?"

"Oh. Yeah." Melora gave a sheepish smile and ducked her head, stepping aside to let Krem pass. "Sorry, just… distracted."

Krem started to walk past her but then paused and turned back. He seemed to hesitate, chewing on a thought, before he smiled and said, "So, uh, you and the Chief, eh?"

Melora's eyes went wide. "Wh-what?"

Krem grinned. "He told me. Well, I kinda pried it out of him. He got this big dopey smile talking about it."

Melora blinked. "What did he say?"

"Don't worry," Krem laughed, "He didn't share all the sordid details. Just said you two were 'in a relationship.' I'm pretty sure he was blushing when he said it."

Melora stared at Krem, cocking her head. "He was?"

Krem nodded, idly scuffing his boot in the dirt. "Yup. And then his eye turned heart-shaped and bluebirds landed on his horns carrying garlands of daisies. Alright, maybe not the last bit, but… Hey, look, uh, this is probably gonna sound weird, and maybe I'm out of line here, seeing as you're the Inquisitor and all, but…"

"By the Maker, if you start up with that 'Your Worship' nonsense again…"

Krem laughed and scratched at the back of his neck. "Yeah, yeah, sorry, just… Look, I've spent a lot of time with him. He's, uh, kinda my best friend. And I know he's, well… _him_ , all tits-out swagger and dirty jokes. But I haven't ever seen him like this before." Krem looked Melora in the eye and held her gaze intently. "Whatever thing you've got with him, it makes him happy, and I _really_ don't want to see him sad. So just… be good to him, whatever… configuration that's gotta take on for you two to make your… thing… work. And, for fuck's sake, don't hide it. I know he laughs about it, but all the times he's been made to go out the back way in the morning so he wouldn't be seen, that's gotta sting."

Melora couldn't help herself, a warm smile spreading across her face as she realized… Krem was being protective, looking out for Bull. And it was _adorable._ "He's lucky to have you as his friend," she said. "And you don't have to worry about all that. I… he and I…" She had to stop then, smiling too broadly, ducking her head, strands of hair falling over her face.

Krem grinned. "Ah, I see the heart eyes are catching. Well, alright then. Good for you two. Hope the big idiot makes you happy."

Melora still couldn't stop smiling, and she tucked her hair behind her ears, nodding. "He really, really does. Thanks, Krem."

"No problem. You have a nice evening, yeah?" Krem said, clapping her on the shoulder and then turning to head into the tavern.

Melora took a deep breath before she followed. Ahead of her, Krem headed left, over to the bar to grab a drink, and Melora went to the right, past the stairs.

There were people everywhere, the tavern packed with most of the soldiers, porters, and scouts that would accompany them to Halamshiral. Melora had to duck past a group of recruits who were roaring with laughter, utterly oblivious to the little Inquisitor who slipped behind their group in the narrow gap between their backsides and the stairs. The drink flowed freely this evening, and the loud crush of bodies filling the tavern smelled of ale, leather, and sweat.

Melora caught sight of Bull, lounging in his usual spot beside the window. And for the moment, she just stood, leaning against the wall, watching him. 

Bull stretched his legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, and he watched the crowd with a mug of ale propped on his belly. His eye scanned slowly across the tavern, and she knew he was reading everyone in turn, his keen mind always on the lookout for a threat. But his manner was calm, one hand curled around his drink, broad shoulders relaxed back against the bench.

Melora smiled as she watched him. He hadn't noticed her yet, and it was pleasant to see him like this, to watch him watching others. She'd sat so many times next to him on that bench, listening as he told her what he could see and what it meant. But try as she might, she still couldn't pick up on things the way he could. She could notice the details, but could not fathom their meaning as Bull did, plucking significance from all the irrelevance, understanding so much about who someone was just by their posture and the way they laced their boots. He'd started trying to teach her, testing her, pointing out what he thought were easy targets. But she did not have his wealth of knowledge, his years of careful observation and learning, and even on a good day, she counted herself fortunate to be able to tell soldier from scribe, and that only worked if the soldier was in uniform.

Bull's gaze drifted over in Melora's direction, and there was a glittering recognition in his eye as he saw her in the crowd. The look he gave her made her breath catch in her throat, a warm smile spreading across Bull's lips, and that familiar ache rose in Melora's chest. She wished she could watch him all day. But the day was almost over. Night was coming soon, and they were to leave for Halamshiral early in the morning.

Melora pushed off the wall and came over to him, stopping at his side. "Hey, Bull," she said.

Bull sat up a little straighter in his seat and smiled at her. "Hey, boss."

Her voice shook as she asked, "Can we talk somewhere private? I, um… I have something for you."

Bull's eye narrowed slightly and he looked her over, and she knew he was reading her too, just as easily as he read the crowd. He gave her a crooked grin, setting his drink aside, and he pushed himself up off the bench. 

He towered over her, casting her in shadow. "That so?" Bull asked, and he lifted a hand to run the pad of his thumb down her neck to the hollow of her throat, taking no notice of the crowd around them, of the dozens of eyes that might see. "Well, I think I have something for you, too. Come on. I'll go first."

Melora followed him up the stairs, watching the way his trousers tightened along the back with each step, and she couldn't help but smirk appreciatively, running her tongue across her lips. She was pretty sure she knew what he had for her, at least in broad strokes, and the thought was distracting her quite nicely from her nervousness.

The second level of the tavern was just as packed as the first, and they had to weave their way around groups of soldiers, masons, and carpenters. Bull was hard to miss, towering above the heads of everyone else. The crowd parted around him, and all Melora had to do was follow close behind him in his wake.

They climbed the second set of stairs to find the third level almost empty, except for a couple of recruits leaning against the railing by the door to Bull's room, smoking dried elfroot leaves wrapped in a bit of thin paper. The pungent smoke hazed the air of the tavern's upper level.

One of the recruits coughed out a lungful of smoke, standing up straighter. "Uh, heh, evening, Inquisitor," he said, holding back a cough with a shuddering breath. The other recruit held the burning bit of elfroot, trying to smile nonchalantly. There was little terribly illicit about the smoking of elfroot, but she was still the Inquisitor and the Herald of Andraste, and their boss, and they'd clearly been smoking enough that they were completely unprepared for any kind of conversation with the woman everyone said was supposed to save the world. 

Melora slipped past Bull, smirking at the recruits as she strolled over to them. "You have enough of that to share?" she asked.

One recruit's reddened eyes flicked to the other, who shrugged helplessly and then gave up the elfroot, handing it over to Melora with a bob of his head.

She looked at the smoldering roll of elfroot, the edges of the paper flaring dull orange, and then she placed her lips around the pinched edge of the paper and inhaled, smoke filling her lungs. They'd always had at least half a dozen elfroot plants growing in the Ostwick Circle's garden. Alcohol had been mostly forbidden except for small amounts on special occasions, but the Templars didn't mind a tower full of chill, snacky mages.

Melora turned and offered the elfroot to Bull as she held her breath.

Bull regarded her with an amused look and then he gave a _fuck it, why not_ shrug and plucked it from her fingers, inhaling deeply before handing it back to her. Melora took another quick sip of smoke and gave back the fading butt to the nearest recruit.

"Next time," she said to them, her voice croaking, and she let out a long, smoky breath, "Take it outside, please? Some people live in this tavern, don't need you stinking up their stuff."

"Yes, sorry, your worship," said one of the recruits, bobbing his head apologetically.

"Also, ah, excuse us?" Melora said, eyeing the door to Bull's room, the recruits blocking the way.

"Shit, sorry. Have a nice evening, Inquisitor. And, uh… you…" Nervous red eyes darted to Bull briefly before the recruits moved aside and retreated downstairs, trailing a thin vein of smoke behind them.

Bull turned his eye to Melora, eyebrow raised.

"What?" she asked coyly.

"You are full of surprises," he replied, reaching out to tug gently at the end of her braid where it lay over her shoulder.

"I'd rather be full of you," Melora said, still smirking.

Bull rumbled a soft laugh. "Can do. Come here." He encircled her with one arm, stooping to press her close to his chest, his other hand cupping her ass with an appreciative squeeze. Then he lifted her with him and carried her up the last few steps and through the door to his room, kicking it shut behind him.

With a low growl, Bull shoved her up against the back of the door, pulling her legs up around his hips. Melora gave a delighted gasp and grinned up at him, draping her arms over his shoulders.

Bull dipped his head and seared a kiss to Melora's lips, pushing her head back against the door, pressing tight against her with his immense body. His lips tasted bitter with ale and rich with the same smoke still upon her own. He clutched at her waist, fingers digging into her skin hard enough to hurt, pulling her closer even as he pushed her against the door. It was almost difficult to breathe. _Almost_. But even in his fervent desire, Bull was always so very aware of her limits, of just how far he could go to hurt but not harm.

Melora embraced him just as tightly, gripping his hips with her thighs, heels digging into his legs, and she slid her fingers up the back of his neck to his horns, pulling him down deeper. His tongue sought hers, sliding rough and slick, and he groaned against her mouth before drawing back, breath hot against her lips. _"Clothes, now,"_ he commanded, his voice thick with lust.

He released her, letting her slide down the door, shirt bunching at her back. She got her legs beneath her before he stepped back and stooped to pull off his boots.

This was new. Bull was always enthusiastic, though usually not nearly so urgent, and he hurried as he undressed, still watching her, his unwavering gaze shadowed with wanting. Melora kicked off her boots and tugged her shirt off over her head. She tucked it over her arm while Bull shed his shoulder harness and belt with a clatter.

Melora undid her trousers and hooked her thumbs under the fabric to pull them down. Her fingertips brushed the top edge of the pockets, and she hesitated for just a moment before slipping off her trousers, smalls, and socks in one go, pushing them all to her feet. She picked them up and started to neatly fold each item, placing socks toes together and shaking out her shirt. But when she looked back up, Bull was already throwing his ridiculous striped trousers aside, gloriously naked. He stared at her, and she stared back, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the shift in the exquisite topography of his muscles and scars as he stalked slowly toward her.

Bull backed her up against the door again, and he took her clothes from her, dropping them in a heap beside the door. Melora made a tiny noise of protest, glancing down to make sure the contents of her pockets had not spilled out onto the floor. But Bull brought one hand up to take hold of the end of her braid, winding the length of it around his palm to draw it tight, pulling her head back. Sinking to his knees, Bull kept the tension on her braid with one hand, dragging the other down her side to trace over her skin. Melora shivered at his touch and yielded to him, head bowed back, hair pulled tight, quivering with anticipation yet holding still, waiting.

Her nipples tightened beneath the warm fan of his breath, and Melora sucked in a gasp of air through parted lips. She brought her hands to Bull's head, stroking her fingertips over his cheekbones, running her thumbs along the pointed length of his ears, and then to his horns, the dark length of them cool and shining like obsidian. He cast his eye up to her face as he took one of her nipples between his warm, full lips.

Melora's eyes fluttered closed, and she tipped her head back against the door. Bull's teeth raked sharp across her skin, and Melora sucked in a breath. Bull growled, the sound deep in his chest. His hands were on her then, too, roaming restless over her skin, rough and eager, sliding over her legs, her hips, brushing lingering upon her throat. There was still that hint of impatience in him, and as Melora stood against the door with her face tipped to the ceiling, she basked in the attentions of his hands and his mouth, smiling, wondering if he wasn't rushing a bit because he wanted to know what she had for him when they were done.

He broke off, standing and taking her by the hand to lead her to the bed. He lay down, shoulders against the foot of the bed, legs resting on one of the pillows, and he tugged at her hand, pulling her onto him.

Melora straddled Bull's hips, her legs spread wide to span him, and he slid his palms over her thighs, light and teasing. She placed her hands over his, pressing her lips together to hold back the giggles that threatened to spill over. The light brush of his fingertips over her skin was very tickly, and she didn't want to start laughing. Not now, at least.

She smiled at him and stretched up the line of his body, skin to skin, the drag of her nipples over his chest making her gasp. She draped her arms over his neck, bringing her mouth to his in a hungry kiss, and Bull wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. Her fingernails dug into the back of his neck hard enough to leave marks. Melora had learned quickly that he enjoyed a little pleasant pain almost as much as she did.

Bull groaned approvingly against her mouth, squeezing her tight. She broke the kiss with a nip at his bottom lip, and then she buried her face against his neck, fingers brushing against the velvety shaved hair at the back of his head.

He just felt _so damned good_ , so warm and substantial beneath her, strong arms encircling her. The elfroot had gone to her head, a little dizzying, yet her limbs felt heavy and soft, and Melora melted against him, utterly relaxed. She pressed a kiss to the side of his neck and made a faint, happy sound. She wanted to sink into him like a hot bath. 

Bull chuckled, stroking one hand down her back, deliberately tickling her just a bit. She squirmed and nipped at his neck, his skin tasting of salt and metal. 

"You going to fall asleep on me there?" Bull asked, tilting his face down to murmur to her.

"Mmm, no. You just feel really, really great." Her voice was soft and breathy, muffled against his skin, and she hugged him tighter round the neck. "You _are_ really, really great."

She could not see the smile he wore, but she could hear it in his voice. "... but?"

"Hm?"

"People only say crap like that when they're about to say 'but'. Like… 'you're really great, but you smell like something died.'"

Melora laughed and shook her head against him. "But you always smell like something died, because you probably just killed whatever it was."

"Hey! Qunari smell fantastic. It's humans who smell weird."

"Weird?" Melora lifted her head to regard him with exaggeratedly wide eyes, trying to look offended but unable to force back a smile. "I don't smell too bad, usually, if I can clean up regularly. And anyway, there wasn't going to be any buts. You _are_ great, even if you do think I smell weird."

"Not gonna be any butts? No buts?" He gasped in mock horror, and grabbed her ass with both hands, giving her a squeeze. "No butts?!"

Melora cackled and squirmed atop him. "You are _ridiculous_!"

"Ridiculous! That's-- no, wait, that's got 'dick' in it. I'll take ridiculous." He gave her a wide grin, showing sharp white teeth. "You know what else is gonna have dick in it?"

"Blessed Andraste!" Melora laughed, her hair falling into her face as she shook her head.

"She probably had a few in her day. But that's not it, guess again!"

Melora snorted helplessly. "Bull!"

"Oh, definitely in the past, though not so much recently. Try again!"

She quaked with laughter until he took hold of her hair at the base of her neck, pulling her up, seeking her mouth with his, and he quieted her with a fierce kiss. The way he touched her, the way he kissed her… it was overwhelming, so much of him all over her, like the wind and shadowed clouds of a sudden storm, blowing all-consuming across her landscape.

He slid his hand to the end of her braid, pulling the ribbon from it and letting her hair down, drawing his fingers through it and spreading it in loose waves over her back and shoulders, the tickle of it making her shiver. Bull smoothed his hand down the back of her head, and then drew back to look at her for a moment before saying, "Y'know… it's probably too much of a pain in the ass to do when we're off killing shit, but while you're at Skyhold, you couldleave your hair loose."

Melora tilted her head a little, smiling. "I _could_ , yes…"

"Only if you want to, of course."

Melora placed a tiny kiss on the end of his nose. "I don't mind. I know you like when I wear it loose."

He grinned at her. "Yeah, I do. I mean, it's nice when you braid it, too, but loose, it's so shiny and soft and pretty." He raked his fingers through her hair idly as he spoke.

Melora ducked her head, smiling sheepishly. "If you say so."

Bull lifted his hands to cup her face in his palms, holding her there and looking into her eyes. "I do say so. You're beautiful."

"So are you." Melora kissed him then, clinging to him tight, crushing her mouth against his. She wanted, more, more, _more_ of him. Maker, she wanted all of him, to touch and know every part of him, and not just his body. But oh, how exquisite his body was, and she had to pull back just to look at him. It didn't seem to matter how many nights she spent with him; she could still scarcely believe he was real, or that someone so magnificent would share her bed.

She rested one hand on his chest over his heart, fingertips light on his skin, letting out a shaky breath. Bull looked back at her, a question in his eye, hands settling comfortably onto her hips.

Turmoil twisted through her belly, and Melora's eyes flicked to the heap of clothes in the corner. _Please let this be right._

Bull eyed her, sliding his palm alongside her cheek. "Hey, you alright?"

Melora gave a brisk nod, then sniffed and gestured vaguely, offering a sheepish smile. "Yeah. Elfroot's made me a little fuzzy, I guess."

"You need a break?"

"No, I'm good. Really."

Bull rubbed the calloused pad of his thumb over her skin and settled back against the foot of the bed. He pressed the tip of his tongue to the edge of his teeth as he thought, and a slow grin spread over his lips. Then he drummed his fingers on the flat of his chest, just below the hard lines of his collarbones, and said, "Sit here. Legs over my shoulders."

Melora's eyes flared wider as she realized what he had in mind, and she could not help but smirk. She thought she'd liked sex before, but truly, before Bull, it'd never even been truly good, let alone great. But it was just so damned _amazing_ with him, so enjoyable and intense that she often wished the entire rest of the world would just _fuck right off_ so neither of them ever had to wear clothes again.

Melora crawled up to his chest and held herself up on her arms, slipping her feet each in turn over his shoulders, feet out over the end of the bed. The manuver seemed awkward, but she performed it with ease, settling comfortably onto his chest. She had spent so much time already clambering over his body, and much of that had been laden with armor and both of them slick with someone else's blood. So much of their time together seemed to be spent in close contact one way or another, long before they'd become… whatever they were, as if they'd always had a mutual craving for each other's contact, beginning mere minutes after their first words to one another.

But she had never thought it would ever lead to _this_ , sitting naked on Bull's chest, legs hanging off the end of his bed, his hand sliding up the small of her back. She trembled with anticipation of what he was about to do to her, knowing just how good he was with that mouth of his.

"You should probably hold on," he suggested, casting a glance up to his horns. Melora grinned and wrapped her hands around the upturned ends of each horn, running her thumbs over the sharp tips.

Bull made a low noise and grasped her hips, pulling her closer, and a faint gasp escaped Melora's lips. His breath was hot across her skin, beard prickly upon her inner thighs. His horns pressed into the tops of her legs as he bent his neck to her and kissed the dark, curled hair between her legs. He'd been urgent before, but now, he moved slow, achingly soft and gentle.

Then, he parted her folds with the tip of his tongue. Melora's breath caught in her throat, and she tipped her head back, pulling his horns closer as she spread her legs wider, urging him on. _More, yes, more, always more. Never enough._

His tongue slipped into her, tasting her, lapping eagerly at her, and there was no teasing now, only an insistent need building within her at every touch of his rough, wet tongue. Every stroke drove her on, and she shifted her hips, pressing closer to his mouth, earning her the sound of a satisfied groan that thrummed against her. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, breath coming in quick gasps, rocking against him. The wide flat of his tongue dragged firm over her clit, and Melora cried out, arching her back. But she still held tight to his horns, fingernails raking uselessly over the hard surface. 

Bull closed his full, soft lips around her clit, and sucked at her, only lightly at first but then a little more forcefully. Maker, that _pull_ , the faint tug of his lips and the flick of his tongue… He knew exactly how to touch her, how to bring her close so quickly if he wished it. Melora felt as though she were spinning then, dizzy with lust, and she was glad for the grip of his horns and the steadying grip of his hand clutching at her ass.

She was so close now, almost there, and she could feel her pulse throbbing through her entire body, a steady drumbeat in her aching cunt against his hungry, unrelenting mouth.

And then, there came a sudden clatter of the door latch, and the screech of hinges as the door onto the battlements swung open.

"Sorry to disturb you, Inquisitor," Cullen was saying as he strolled in, looking down at the paperwork he held in one hand. "But our fortifi-- oh, _sweet Maker!"_

Cullen stumbled a few steps back, staring slack-jawed at the scene laid out before him: the Iron Bull stretched out the wrong way around on the bed, huge and naked, one hand stroking his rigid cock against his belly. Bull's face was hidden between the twitching thighs of the equally naked Inquisitor, her slim fingers wrapped white-knuckled around Bull's horns. Her head was thrown back, her long, dark hair streaming loose down her back, brushing Bull's other hand where he gripped the soft flesh of her ass.

Melora's eyelids fluttered open at the sound of the door opening, and she turned her gaze to Cullen, eyes shadowed with dazed lust, turning quickly to confusion, then finally, wide-eyed panic.

Melora shrieked and froze, then scrambled off of Bull and onto the bed beside him, nearly kicking him in the face in the process. She crouched there for lack of any better option and crossed her arms over her chest in an attempt to cover her nakedness, her lower half hidden behind Bull.

Bull pushed himself up on his elbows and ran the palm of one hand over his mouth, wiping away the slick wetness there. Then he stretched out, looking as relaxed as a cat in a sliver of sunshine, and gave Cullen a smug grin. "Cullen. How's it going?"

Cullen opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

There was the swish of petticoats as Josephine came up behind Cullen, her distinctive silhouette cast against the fading twilight visible through the open doorway. "Is she here?" Josephine asked Cullen as she slipped in past him. "I thought perhaps we-- _oh!"_

Josephine stopped abruptly and spluttered, her eyes wide. She stared at Bull, Melora by his side with her loose hair in disarray, half hidden behind Bull's vast bulk, but both clearly naked. And one could not look at Melora from the doorway without having to look past Bull's massive erection.

"You might've knocked," Melora mumbled, unable to meet Josephine or Cullen's gaze.

"I am… so… sorry," Cullen stammered, holding his papers in front of his face to shield his eyes. It was such a Templar thing to do that under different circumstances, Melora might have laughed.

"I cannot move my legs," Josephine said, and unlike Cullen, it seemed she was unable to look away.

Then, Cassandra strolled up behind Cullen and Josephine, pushing between the two of them and into the room. "Is something the matter-- aaaugh!" Cassandra took a step back, aghast.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Bull groaned, tilting his head back in exasperation.

"Do you see this?" Cassandra asked in disbelief, turning back to Josephine and Cullen.

"No," denied Cullen flatly.

Cassandra turned back, gaping. "So I take it--"

Bull cut her off, gesturing to Melora with a grin. "Actually, _she's_ the one who's been taking it."

Cullen stifled a snorting laugh. 

Melora turned to blink in bafflement at Bull. He was making jokes _now?_

Cassandra crossed her arms over her chest and said, "I apologize for interrupting… whatever this is."

"Nothing wrong with having a bit of fun," said Cullen, still smirking.

"Who wouldn't be a little curious?" said Josephine, pressing back a giggle behind her rosy lips. Cassandra turned and looked at Josephine in disbelief.

"So, uh, can we help you folks, or you just here for the show?" Bull asked.

Josephine glanced at Cullen and then shook her head, stammering as she tried to explain. "We didn't realize that you would be… ah… Leliana suggested you would be here. You two do spend much of your time, ah, together."

Melora looked to Bull, desperation in her eyes, not knowing what to say. But Bull just gave her a smile and turned back to the other three.

"You know, that's because we are. Together, I mean," Bull said, and as he spoke, he lay his hand against the small of Melora's back. His palm was reassuringly warm and solid, his fingers curling over her hip to squeeze her affectionately.

A sweet, swirling ache spread through Melora's chest, overwhelming. This was certainly not how she had pictured the Inquisition's senior staff finding out. She knew Bull had told Krem, but she hadn't been there to hear it as she was now. And there was a joy so acute it burned, hearing Bull say it out loud. He seemed so damned _relaxed_ about this, his fingertips stroking her skin idly. The revelation had come so easy to him, and there was not a hint of nervousness or self-consciousness in him.

Bull's confidence was infectious, burning away the embarrassment Melora felt. She straightened her shoulders and fixed the three of them with a resolute stare. When none of them spoke, she filled the silence. "Is that a problem?"

"No!" said Cullen, a little too quickly.

"Not at all!" squeaked Josephine.

Cassandra seemed to be holding back a smile, her eyes lingering on Bull's arm, how his hand still rested on Melora's back. "No, not a problem." Cassandra said, the edges of her lips twitching upward ever so slightly. "Not even much of a surprise."

"Great, now _get out,"_ Melora said. "And try _knocking_ next time!"

"So, so sorry. We'll leave you be," Cullen said as he turned to leave.

"Yes, do enjoy yourselves," Josie added on her way out too, and the smirk in her voice was obvious.

"It's about time," Cassandra said on her way out the door, and she wore the faintest smile as she added, "Varric owes me ten sovereigns."

The door closed behind Cassandra, and Bull and Melora were alone again. It was quiet, the sound of footsteps fading on the stone outside.

Bull sighed and sat up, sitting beside Melora on the side of the bed. He lay a hand on her shoulders, stroking down her back. "You alright?" he asked her.

"I think we may have blinded poor Cullen," she said, wearing nothing but a tiny smirk.

"Nah, he's gonna be polishing his phylactery to that mental picture for weeks."

Melora stifled a laugh, snorting. He never seemed to let anything get in the way of making a dirty joke, even being caught naked by half the damned Inquisition.

"Now, where were we?" Bull reached out and slid his hand over the back of her neck, pulling her to him. He brushed her hair away from her face and kissed her soundly.

Melora smiled against his mouth, tasting herself there on his lips, his beard a prickly scrape across her chin. "Actually," she said patting his cheek, "I think I'm going to need a minute. That was a bit disconcerting."

Bull chuckled, nodding as he sat back. "Sure. We've got all night. Besides, gives me time to figure out how I'm gonna get revenge on Red."

Melora narrowed her eyes, looking at him askance. "What do you mean? Surely Leliana didn't mean for _that_ to happen."

Bull cleared his throat and said, "Uh, yeah, y'know, I think she sorta did. She was outside your room when I left in the morning, that first time. I dunno how long she'd been out in the hall, but, well, I was leaving your room at dawn, so…"

Melora brought her hand to her forehead, lips pressed in a wry smile. "I thought she was smirking at me more lately. Well, she wasn't the only one who knew. Um. Varric guessed a while back."

"That explains why he kept giving me funny looks. Hmm, I don't think he approves, then. Though apparently not so much that it kept him from making a bet with Cassandra that he knew he'd lose. Which is actually damn clever to get on her good side. I gotta remember that one."

"He definitely doesn't approve," Melora said. "Krem does, though."

"Oh. Heh, he say something to you?"

Melora nodded. "Just did before I came to see you. He said you told him."

"Uh, yeah, I sorta did."

"He was very nice about it. He adores you, you know. You seem to have a Vint for a little brother."

Bull smiled, nodding thoughtfully. "I suppose that's one way of looking at it."

Melora ran her tongue over her lips and said, "Also, Dagna knew."

"Really? How?"

"I, um… I asked her to make something." She looked down at her hands, fingers twisted around each other. Her stomach twisted too, knowing the moment had come, and there was only one thing to be done, even if she could only hope at the outcome.

Melora took a deep breath, and then she slipped from the bed and padded barefoot over toward the tavern door, where her clothes lay in a heap against the wall. She found her trousers and retrieved the two halves of the dragon's tooth from the pockets before returning to the bed, sitting down next to Bull, who watched her with interest.

She held the two halves together, as they had been before being split, looking down at them in her hands. Lacy roses and sharp thorns in pinkish dawnstone twined over the base and tip of the shining tooth, the colour of dried blood, and when the two were placed together, it appeared as though they both grew from a single stem of dawnstone that split and branched along the convex curve of the tooth.

"What's that?" Bull asked, moving over to sit closer to her.

Melora held her cupped hands out to him, and Bull looked down to see the dragon's tooth cupped in her palms, lengths of dawnstone chain pooled around like shining pink water. "A dragon's tooth, split in two," she said, her voice soft. "Half for you, half for me. From the one we fought together. So that no matter what, we'll always be together."

She looked up into his face, as realization turned into something that looked more like pain, knotting the scarred furrows of his brow. He closed his eye and bowed his head, and Melora held her breath, suddenly terrified she'd done something wrong. She started to pull back, but Bull reached out and clutched her hands in his, squeezing her fingers so tight around the edges of the dragon's tooth that it hurt.

Bull lifted her hands to his mouth and brushed his lips across her knuckles, easing his grip on her, and he murmured against her skin, "This is… not often people surprise me, _kadan."_

 _"Kadan?"_ she repeated. He'd taught her a bit of Qunlat, but she didn't know this word.

 _"Kadan,"_ Bull said with a warm smile. "My heart."

The world seemed to slow for a moment, and Melora closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his hands around hers. She had spent so long wondering, hoping, trying not to hope. But to know that she truly meant something to him… 

She looked up at him with wide eyes, blinking back tears as she asked with a smile, "Sorry, say that again? I didn't quite catch that."

Bull laughed softly, releasing her hands and sliding his palms up her arms, leaning in close. "I said," he murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw, between the words, punctuation with his lips. "That you… are my heart. My _kadan_."

Melora closed her eyes, unable to speak, feeling the fan of his breath on her skin, the rough of his beard on her cheek. Her lips trembled, and she knew the tears would flow if she said anything now.

So in silence, she held out her half of the dragon's tooth to him, placing it in his palm. Bull took it from her and then she crawled onto his lap, holding the chain of his half open in a loop. 

Melora eyed him for a moment, hesitating, looking up at his horns. Bull watched her puzzled expression and cracked a grin. "Over one horn, then the other," he instructed.

Melora slipped the loop over his left horn first, and there was just enough slack in the chain to fit over the tip of his right horn. She let the dragon's tooth settle into place at the center of his chest, and she stroked her fingers down along the chain where it lay against his skin. Melora looked up into his face, wishing she could hear what he was thinking, to understand what the faint shifts in the landscape of his features meant. For all the time she had spent with him, for all their long talks and everything they had done together, she still only understood a fraction of this beautiful man. And she wanted so badly to know the rest of him, the parts he kept hidden. There was so much of himself that he kept concealed, despite never even wearing a shirt.

Bull didn't say a word, taking the dragon's tooth in his own hand and slipping the chain over Melora's head, gathering her hair to pull it from beneath the chain. The tip of the tooth rested between her breasts, warmed from being held in Bull's palm.

She looked down at it there and felt the weight of it hanging from her neck. It was far heavier than she had expected, in more ways than one.

"I didn't expect you'd actually…" Bull stopped, shaking his head. "It's just a thing in stories. People don't really _do_ this."

"Oh," Melora said softly, frowning. "Did I get it wrong, then?"

"No, you didn't. You got it perfect." Bull chuckled and put his arm around her, tucking her close to him. "You been keeping a tooth from that dragon this whole time, just in case or something?"

"No," she said, leaning her head against his arm. "I had to get it from the skull in the hall. A few nights after you told me about it, one of the war council meetings ran really, really late. When I came out, the hall was empty. So I made sure Vivienne was asleep and tied a rope to the leg of her bed, and I pried the tooth out with one of my practice blades."

Bull side-eyed her, the corner of his mouth twisted a bit. "You dangled from a rope thrown over the railing to get this thing out of the skull?" 

"Yes…" Melora cast him a curious glance. "What, don't you believe me?"

"Nah, I'd know if you were lying." He reached out and smoothed his palm over her hair, twisting a lock between his fingers. "I'd have just liked to see that."

"You know you'd usually be the first person I'd invite along for late-night shenanigans, but it would have ruined the surprise."

"Thought you were afraid of heights."

"I am. But… luckily, I had someone teach me how to tie very secure knots." She gave him a sidelong glance, smirking. "It was scary, but I had good motivation."

Bull smiled, looking down at the dragon's tooth laying against his chest. "And then you had Dagna make it into these, with dawnstone."

"You mentioned once that you liked it."

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "I really do."

Melora stretched up to kiss him, slipping her arms around his neck. Bull's arms closed around her, and he rumbled a low, happy sound. Melora smiled into the kiss and felt him do the same.

"You recovered from the shock of your minions seeing you riding my face?" Bull asked, drawing back only slightly.

Melora laughed softly against his mouth, sliding her hand over the back of his neck. "Technically, only Cullen saw that. The rest just saw us naked. Well, I think most of what they saw was this…" She traced her other hand down his chest, fingertips walking down his belly. She paused to ask, "May I touch you?" 

At his slight nod, she wrapped her fingers around his cock, still half-hard, and he responded quickly to her touch, twitching against her palm.

Bull leaned back, making a low noise as she stroked him. "Everyone's gonna know by tomorrow," he said, closing his eye. "Mm, harder. Both hands."

Melora smirked, watching him, his pulse visible beneath the hard lines of his neck as he tipped his head back. "I think they probably already suspected that you're very, very well hung," she said. Sweet Andraste, he really was, fully hard now in her hands, his cock a rather beautiful dusky purplish pink roped with veins like tendrils of quicksilver.

He snorted a soft laugh. "I meant - _ah -_ about us." His breath hitched mid-sentence, cock throbbing in her hands in response to her tighter grip.

"I know."

"You alright with that?"

"Yes," Melora said, stroking him tight, so thick and heavy in against her palms, searing hot. "I never wanted to hide it in the first place." They'd never hidden, not truly, but they'd been discreet, and not really discussed it much with others.

"There's gonna be consequences. You sure you're ready for that?"

"Consequences? Like what?"

"You think people aren't gonna have opinions on the Herald of Andraste, the _Inquisitor_ with an army behind her, carrying on with a qunari mercenary? Especially one with my reputation?"

"Well, who gives a fuck what people think?"

" _You_ should. There's enough people who already don't like you being an apostate and you saying you saw Andraste. Look, this is an angle you can't afford to ignore. Especially not now, going to this thing in Orlais. There's some powerful imagery in someone like you standing at the head of the Inquisition, so easily mistaken for small and weak, not looking like a fighter, not like someone who takes out demons before lunch and dragons before dinner. Varric's gonna have a great time running with that whole thing, painting a pretty picture of this tiny, powerful mage leading the Inquisition through the cold, treacherous, snowy mountains to safety. But that picture changes entirely if people think of me standing next to you at the head of the Inquisition."

"But you _were_ standing next to me when we first came to Skyhold. I wouldn't have made it over that bridge without you holding my hand."

"But that's not what they want to see. Once this gets out, you're not this mysterious figure to them anymore. They're not thinking about how powerful you must be to have gained such a large following so fast, or about the stability the Inquisition's trying to bring back, or the rifts, or any of that. They'll be speculating about your sex life. And probably wondering how much influence I've got with you. All those rude little Orlesian printings, those cartoons they do with the rhymes and innuendos that people first snicker at and then keep in a stack in the outhouse to wipe their asses with? If you haven't already been featured in some of them, you sure will be soon."

Melora fixed him with a stern look. "I will close the rifts, lead if I must, fight and risk my life. I will do whatever is asked of me. But you… you're not part of some political equation. Not to me. I'll do everything else they want me to, and I'll do it with a smile, but I'll do it with you by my side, whether they like it or not. I'm not afraid of some bawdy drawings."

"You should be. You can tell the way the wind is blowing, reading those. People are not going to like you being with _anyone_ , least of all me, and they're gonna say so. They already have been, just with me being close to you these past months. Even Varric, someone who knows us, he doesn't approve. And when people's suspicions are confirmed, they'll have even more to say. Some of it'll be to your face, but even more of it behind your back, rumours and whispers and the way they look at you when you walk into a room. How you gonna handle that?"

Melora squeezed the head of his cock, making him twitch in her hands. "Profanity and rude gestures seem like a good option."

Bull made a low, pleased noise at the way she gripped him, but there was a touch of annoyance in his voice. "I'm serious. It's gonna come up. You need to be ready for it."

"And I'm serious, too. I will not put up with anyone casting aspersions on you, or us. You keep telling me I have power now, and influence. What good is it if I don't use it to stand up for something important to me, for _someone_ important to me? Why shouldn't I hold my head up high and stand with you with pride? I will not tolerate anyone who so much as hints that there's anything wrong with you and I being together. I'll hold a parade in your honor. Declare a holiday named after you where everyone eats pie, drinks crappy booze, and the little kids go door to door singing songs about dragons while wearing horns made out of sticks tied to their heads, and people will give them sweets. You are amazing, and I will make sure everyone knows it."

Bull laughed, looking over at her with a smile. "I'd like to see the look on everyone's faces when you make that decree."

Melora held her head high, nodding sagely. "You just watch me. I'll do it." Her expression softened then, and she eyed him contemplatively. What must this be like for him, to be so certain of the scorn he'd be treated with? To be doing something like this, and to know he would not find much acceptance for it, even outside the Qun? She thought about what Krem had said, about Bull being made to leave out the back door in the morning. She could stand up for him all she liked - and she would - but her magic and army could not force a change in the minds of the unwilling. What mattered more than the judgement of the crowd was how Bull felt about it all. Quietly, Melora asked, "Are _you_ alright with this? With people knowing?"

Bull took a deep breath and then nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I am. Makes things more complicated, having to deal with other people, consider their reactions and thoughts. But… All those tragic fables I heard growing up… They were just stories. I'm not ashamed of what we're doing. This, _us_? It's good. Real good."

"It really is," she said softly. She licked at her lips, raised a wicked eyebrow, and traced a fingertip over the droplet of wetness at the end of his cock. "Anything I can do to make it better?"

The corner of his mouth drew up in a crooked grin, his eye gleaming. "Kneel on the floor."

Melora slipped from the bed obediently, on her knees on the floor between his feet. The floorboards were rough and cold, crumb-covered and strewn with papers and books.

Bull caught one sharp tooth against his bottom lip as he considered his options. "One hand on you, one hand on me. You're going to touch yourself while you suck me. But you're not going to come yet, and neither am I. One finger at first, very lightly."

Melora shifted and parted her legs, slipping her left hand between them, brushing ever so slightly there with just the pad of her middle finger. 

"Ah, you listen so well." Bull said, his voice warm with praise. "Good. Lean closer."

Bull sat up straighter and gathered her hair at the nape of her neck in his hand so he could guide her exactly where he wanted her. Melora parted her lips, taking his cock eagerly as he pulled her mouth down onto it. She slid her tongue along the sensitive ridge on the underside of his cock and stroked her free hand over the length of him as he moved her.

Melora's cheeks and jaw ached with the effort, a throbbing drumbeat that increased to pain, her forehead knotting as she winced. But this pain would not harm her, and it would fade in time, so she continued, her hand slick on him, working in time with her mouth, and she was rewarded with the sound of him, a low groan that rolled through him like distant thunder.

"Don't forget yourself _,_ " he murmured when the motion of her hand between her legs slowed.

She didn't dare touch her more sensitive places, stroking only lightly, one finger parting soft flesh and dipping into her wetness. Melora was so aroused, she knew it wouldn't take much to make her come, and he had told her not to. A throbbing desire rose within her, urged on by the constant pull of his hand in her hair, the quake in the landscape of his magnificent body as she worked his cock with her hand and mouth. And oh Maker, the _sounds_ he made, the huff and gasp of his breath, his growling moan so exquisite it made her cunt _ache._

Bull's voice was a husky rasp. "Two fingers, now."

Melora obeyed, slipping two fingers alongside her clit, but lightly, resisting the urge to twist her hips where she knelt, heat building in her with each breath. Bull guided her up and down on the head of his cock with exquisite slowness, giving her time to flick her tongue along it, teasing, tasting. She could feel his pulse quickening beneath her tongue, the cadence of his heartbeat filling her mouth.

He hadn't taken his eye from her, until she dragged her teeth over him. His hand tightened in her hair, and he tipped his head back and moaned, the sound so deliciously low and deep, reaching something deep inside her and twisting. "Ahh-- _fuck!_ " Bull gasped. "Do that again. Just once, real light."

She did, edge of sharp teeth meeting searing hot skin, and he bucked his hips up off the edge of the bed, his thighs quaking with tension. That she could bring him to this, barely restrained, shaking with desire… He was so beautiful, shining silver with a thin sheen of sweat upon his skin, at once trembling on the edge of control and completely at ease.

"Fingers inside," Bull ordered, the words a stuttering huff of breath. "As many as you can. Open yourself up. I want you ready for me."

Melora obeyed, slipping two fingers, then three into herself, working them in and out, her moan muffled with her mouth so full of him. His hand gripped her hair tight, and she could feel him slowing, breath huffing through gritted teeth as he struggled to hold back.

With a frustrated growl, he pulled her away, and her lips came off him with an audible _pop._ He released her hair, sitting back a little, chest heaving as he caught his breath. Melora took the opportunity to stretch her jaw, the hollows of her cheeks sore too, lips tingling, and she watched him, waiting.

"Stand up," he said.

Melora obeyed, pulling slick fingers from between her legs to hang awkwardl and damp at her side. She brushed at her legs with the side of her hand, crumbs from the floor stuck to her skin. 

"Look at me," Bull said.

Her skin prickled with a chill as she stood before him, eyes lifted to his face and caught there in his shadowy gaze. The light had nearly faded, and he had transformed into a dark silhouette, the edges of him glowing ever fainter, backlit from the hole in the ceiling behind him. "It's gotten dark around us," she commented, and then she inclined her head slightly to ask, "Shall I fix that?"

"Alright."

Melora glanced to the cluster of candles sitting on a makeshift table beside the bed, and she focused on their wicks, the sweet scent of beeswax at the back of her throat. In her mind's eye, she separated the threads of the Veil, sorting through all the possibilities like a decorator flipping through a book of infinite colours, until she found one in which the wicks were aflame. This thread, she plucked gently, outstretching one hand, heat coursing up her wrist to her fingertips. The candles lit, a trio golden flames popping into existence all at once, and bathed their corner of the room in shifting light.

"Now I can see you," she said, turning back to him with a smile.

"And I can see you." Bull sat there on the edge of the bed, just watching her as she stood before him, wearing nothing but the dragon's tooth, hair falling loose to her waist. " _Ataash saarebas."_

Melora grinned. Those words, she knew.

Bull reached out for her, hands around her waist, pulling her closer. She draped her arms around his shoulders, and he tilted his head a bit, thinking, one tooth caught on his bottom lip in a fiendish smirk. "I wonder if your magic could be used for… other things."

Melora laughed softly, raising an eyebrow. "You mean sex things."

"Lucky guess."

"Seriously? I know you've suggested it before, but I thought you were kidding."

"I'm not talking full on flames. Maybe just a small spark, though."

"That's possible. Or… um, can I try something? Just a little tiny something…?" 

When Bull nodded, Melora closed her eyes, feeling her hands splayed on his shoulders, and she took a deep breath. She focused on her fingertips, seeing them as points of lights fanned out in the darkness behind her eyelids, and she sifted through the delicate strands of the Veil until her fingertips began to warm. It was faintly at first, but then in the darkness, those points glowed brighter.

"Whoa," Bull said, and Melora opened her eyes. "What the--" 

Melora drew her hands back. "Too much?"

"No, no. Just… wasn't expecting that. It's interesting, though. Pleasant. Gonna have to have you give me a neck rub later doing that." 

"I'll rub whatever you like. Mm, how about, um...?"

Bull eyed her with a smile and nodded again, and Melora settled her hands back on his shoulders. This time, she chilled her fingertips, cool but not quite cold. This came almost as easily as warmth and flame, two sides of the same coin.

Bull grinned. "That's… damn, I can think of a few uses for that, too." 

She gave him a curious look. "I'm still a little surprised. You've always been pretty clear about not wanting any magic too near you."

He looked back at her, a little twist to the corner of his mouth, at once wicked, wise, and wonderful. "It's a part of you. I've seen the control you have, the stuff you can do with it. I know you can do big stuff now, but all that time in the Circle just being forced to twiddle your magical thumbs, you've got great control over the little stuff, like lighting candles. As long as there's something safe to burn, you're good. I, uh… I trust you. Wouldn't try that sort of thing with anyone else. You, uh…kinda push my limits. Make me think about stuff I hadn't considered before."

Melora looked down at her feet, smiling sheepishly, toes curling on the discarded paper there covered in smudged scrawls of Qunlat. She nodded a little, hair falling loose over the sides of her face, and she wondered if that was Bull's handwriting. "I know the feeling. I don't think I have limits with you. At least, none that I've ever found. I don't think I ever will have had enough of you."

Bull chuckled, brushing her hair back from her face, cupping her cheeks in his palms. "I dunno. There's gotta be _some_ things about me you don't like."

She laughed, turning her face to kiss at the heel of his hand. Her fingertips still rested upon his shoulders, and she stroked there idly, the chill faded from her skin. Melora thought for a moment, watching his face, and then shook her head. "You are everything I never knew I wanted." She paused, adding, "Except for the crumbs in the bed."

Bull gave a soft laugh through his nose and leaned in, fingertips light on her cheeks as he kissed her. His lips were so soft and sweet on hers that she swayed on her feet, the haze of elfroot and the nearness of him making her feel as though she were floating. Bull slipped his arms around her and then he pulled her with him onto the bed, smirking against her lips at her little sound of surprise.

Melora straddled his lap, and she could feel him, still hard and heavy against her, and she couldn't resist tipping her hips, changing the angle just so, to press the length of him tighter between her legs, and she gasped at the sensation, closing her eyes.

Bull trailed his fingertips down her back, stroking through the tangled ends of her hair, little pulls on her scalp as each snarl came free. Melora leaned in against him, sighing pleasantly. Sweet Andraste, his skin felt so _good_ against hers, warm and electric and _alive._ Everything about him was so very alive. He fought, fucked, ate, drank, and laughed with such vigor that just being around him made her feel more alive, too. His very presence was intoxicating, and to touch him, to _feel_ him, even more so. 

And this, pressed close to him now… Melora's chest hitched with a shaky breath and she clinged to him, fingers grasping at the back of his neck, crushing him to her. She still wasn't sure whether that elfroot was a good idea, all of this already overwhelming and emotional enough without being _dizzying_.

But Bull just held her close, brushing her hair back from her neck to kiss her there, nipping lightly just below her ear. " _Kadan."_ The word was a breath, hot on her skin, sealed there with another kiss, his lips soft and lingering enough to make her shiver. Everything else seemed to melt away as Melora closed her eyes and just felt _him_ , warm and solid and safe against her. 

She felt his fingertips beneath her jaw, tipping her face up to his, and she opened her eyes to see him looking at her, checking again if she was alright. Melora smiled at him, stroking at his skin. He was always paying such close attention, taking care to ensure her safety and enjoyment, always wanting to push her just to the edge of breaking but never, ever any further. The contrast of him fascinated her: the way those big, rough hands could be so soothing and gentle, what sweet agony they could inflict upon her, and the swift death they could bring to his foes. Contrasts dwelt in perfect harmony within him, an equilibrium of opposites. And somehow, the Maker had granted her the incredible fortune not just to know him, but to be called _his heart_.

Melora pressed a kiss to his chin, lingering and adoring on the rough of his beard, hands roaming the planes of his back.

"You said you hadn't had enough yet," he murmured, his tone suggestive.

She grinned. "Never."

His hands moved to take hold of her hips, lifting her up so she supported her own weight rather than resting on him. "Can you move like this?" he asked.

Melora adjusted the position of her legs slightly. "I think so."

"Good." Bull squeezed her ass, and he guided her hips so the smooth tip of his cock slid against her entrance, just parting the folds of her, but no further.

Melora trembled in tense ancipation, but Bull just paused there, lifting one hand to skim over her back, light and soothing. "Breathe," he whispered. "Deep breath, _kadan_."

And when she exhaled, he gripped her hips tight and pulled her down slow onto him, sliding into her with exquisite slowness. She could feel herself opening, stretching to fit him within her. It was a sweet, stinging pain, but one she knew would fade in a moment. It had hurt far more those first few times, but she had grown used to him now. Having him inside her felt _right_. Sinking down upon him, Melora clinged to him, gasping.

Bull waited, letting her get used to him, running his hands over her thighs. Melora lifted her face to look into his, and her eyes narrowed a fraction, looking closer. Bull did not take his eye from her, watching her, and Melora realized he was shaking. His skin beneath her fingers was prickled as if with a chill. In his gaze, Melora saw something there she had never truly seen before.

There was something _open_ about Bull now, in his expression, in the crinkles at the corners of his eye, the muscles beneath his brow, the curves of his lips.

_She could see him._

The wall of cold stone behind his eye seemed to have crumbled away, revealing him behind it. The real him, she knew somehow, as if in a dream. She could see him there, a raw spark latent with longing, so easily extinguished and so desperate for her to breathe him into flame.

Melora pulled him to her, resting his forehead against hers, bodies pressed close and entwined with two halves of a single dragon's tooth the only thing between them, not separating them but uniting them.

His body thrummed beneath Melora's fingertips as she stroked over the back of his neck, feeling to her as if she were caressing the strings of a great instrument made not of wood but iron and blood and wanting. Melora rocked her hips, achingly slow, and his hands moved with her, guiding her motions. Though she rested on him, he still was the one in control, gripping her tight, setting the pace and drawing out the sensation to a razor's edge. He felt so _good_ , the drag and fullness of him within her, the contrasts of hard and soft of him pressed against her body. With each roll of her hips, Bull bucked his own up to meet her, breathing hard through his nose.

His pace faltered, those thick fingertips grasping at her so hard she knew she would have bruises tomorrow, eight tender spots that would bloom into colour on her skin before fading in time. Stilled within her, Bull moaned low, the sound ragged and aching, his breath stuttering hot through parted lips. Maker, how he _trembled_.

" _Let go_ ," she whispered, tipping her face up to kiss him softly between the words, " _You're safe. I've got you_." She curled her arms around him, holding him tight, fingers splayed across his skin, clinging to as much of him as she could touch. He had said the same to her, their first time together. And somehow, this felt just as new, just as _first_.

" _Can I--?"_ she started.

 _"Yes, anything,"_ Bull breathed.

Melora made a little amused noise and kissed him again before sitting back just a little. And then, she began to move, thighs tight as she took him as deep as she could. She rode him slow, fingernails digging into his shoulders hard enough to hurt. Bull closed his eye, groaning at the way she gripped him, yielding to her, head tilted back. Melora drank in the sight of him, the lines and angles of his neck, the pulse in his throat, and she could not resist leaning in to draw her tongue across that spot, feeling his blood there just beneath the surface, tasting his heartbeat. 

_Kadan, kadan, kadan,_ went his heart. 

She knew he was close, knew the nuance now of the sounds he made just before he came. Melora rolled her hips, sliding him from her almost all the way, and then paused there just a moment before changing the angle so that he pressed not within her but against her. Bull groaned, so close, just on the edge and desperate to have her, to finish inside her. But he had said anything. And so, she teased him, stroking herself over him, so very slick and hot, teasing herself as much as him. If she angled herself just right, the smooth tip of his cock rubbed against her clit, sending little shocks of sensation through her, and she whimpered, biting at her lip, trying to hold back for now, not yet…

" _Kadan_ ," Bull gasped, clenched fingers digging into her skin, but he resisted the urge to pull her down again. His breath growled through his teeth, and she knew he wanted to take hold of her, to flip her onto the bed and _take_ her. She stopped entirely for a moment, just to hear that growl again. But instead, he whispered, " _Please."_

Melora took him whole before the word had scarcely passed his lips. Her teeth found his skin then, too, and the sound he made wound through her chest, coiling around the ache there, squeezing so tight she could scarcely breathe. She felt him tense and tremble, and she felt herself coming undone. Melora gave herself over to it, letting it wash over her. 

This was not the usual fire she experienced with him. This was different. It was water, an ocean of feeling flowing around her and through her, powerful and unrelenting, scouring her clean, purifying. There was nothing in this Maker-forsaken world but him and her, everything else washed away in this swell and flow.

Bull caught her mouth with his, sharing body and breath, and at once, their waves crested together with a wordless cry. Melora felt him quake within her, and for a moment, everything dissolved, she along with it.

Another trembling stroke, two, three, and she could move no longer, settling down upon him, resting her head against him to catch her breath. She could feel his heart beating hard through his skin, and she placed her fingertips there on his chest, pressed close to him until the stars behind her eyelids began to fade. 

Melora sat back, letting out a slow breath at the pleasant sensation of him still twitching within her, and she caught his gaze with hers. The way he looked at her, the gleam in his stormy green eye, a mixture of lust and awe shining there… She smiled, damned pleased with herself. Bull broke into a wide grin, too, and he chuckled, low and satisfied, slipping a hand around the back of her head to pull her in for a kiss.

But they were both smiling far too broadly, lips drawn tight, and they managed only to clink their front teeth together. He tried again, but deliberately missed and got the end of her nose instead. He drew back and burst out laughing at the surprised look on her face, and then they were both laughing together, at each other's laughter, at the absurdity of the world, at the rush they both had from what they'd just done, and because they might die tomorrow.

Bull wrapped his arms tight around her and hugged her to him, huge and warm, and Melora closed her eyes, giggles fading as she sank against him, still straddling his lap and enjoying the fluttering feeling deep inside her, little twitches and clenches around his cock. She smiled contentedly, resting her cheek against his skin.

After a few minutes, Bull said softly, "Hey, _kadan?"_

Melora smiled, noting how often he was calling her that, as if he were still trying it out, getting used to the feeling of it on his tongue. She didn't mind at all.

She stroked her hands over his back, tipping her face up just a bit to reply, "Yeah?"

"We have _got_ to get more elfroot."


	24. Chapter 24

The morning dawned cool and misty, the haze transforming to a golden halo when the sun spilled over the mountains. Melora and Bull had been up and out of bed since the first indigo glow had begun to lighten the sky.

Skyhold buzzed, a busy hive as everyone seemed to be moving too quickly, people scurrying this way and that. And in the center of it all, Josephine supervised the chaos with her clipboard and pen in hand, queen bee and conductor in shining gold. She'd tried to beckon Melora over, but Melora had called back, "I'll be there in a minute!" and pulled Bull with her away before Josephine could splutter a protest.

Bull gave her a curious look, but Melora just smiled, tugging him along, hopping over a muddy puddle in the lower bailey. "Where're we going?" he asked.

"The stables."

"Why?"

"You'll see in a second."

They rounded the corner leading toward the stables, and there, too, stablehands and porters rushed about, tightening straps on saddles and adjusting reins. The mounts for the soldiers and the horses to pull the carts and carriages were assembled outside the gates on the road out of Skyhold, but the horses for the Inquisition's senior staff were being prepared here.

The horsemaster Dennet saw Melora and Bull approach and came over, turning to one of the stablehands to shout, "No, not that one, that's the saddle for the Commander's horse! Look sharp, the Inquisitor is watching!"

Melora tried to give the startled stablehand a stern look, but she couldn't help but crack a smile. The boy ducked his head with a little smile before running off, saddle thrown over his shoulder.

"Lady Inquisitor," Dennet said, nodding to Melora. "Right over here."

Bull and Melora followed Dennet around the side of the stables, where Melora's dappled dun mare pony had been saddled and tethered. Beside the mare, there was a second horse: a huge, heavily built bay stallion with a white blaze and fetlocks. This second horse was also saddled and ready to ride, the saddle the biggest Melora had ever seen, leather and metal gleaming and new.

Melora turned to Bull and beamed him a grin. "So, um… surprise!"

Bull blinked confusedly. "Wait, what?"

Melora nodded to the horsemaster. "Dennet tells me it was quite a feat, acquiring such a horse, what with the rifts and the war and the like."

Bull looked to Dennet and then to Melora and back again. Melora smirked at the look on Bull's face. "You know what they call this class of horse?" she asked.

"Uh…"

"A big horse like this, trained for battle… they often call it a Charger." She grinned up at him.

Bull stared at her. "You know I don't know how to ride, right?"

"That's alright. I'll teach you!"

"Uhhh… You know how to ride?"

Melora laughed and hugged his arm. "Of course! The Trevelyans raise the best horses in all of the Marches. I was riding before I could walk. They gave me a horse after we came to Skyhold, but I've not bothered riding since you didn't have a mount of your own, so I asked Dennet to find you an appropriate horse. Don't worry, you'll do fine."

Bull put his arm around her, looking at the huge horse warily. The stallion chewed a mouthful of oats, paying no mind to the people around him.

"You trying to spoil me?" Bull asked.

"So what if I am?" she replied. "Shall I cancel the order for the dawnstone greataxe and crate of horn balm, then?"

Bull chuckled but then stopped abruptly. "Wait, you found horn balm?"

Melora laughed again, nodding. "Mmhmm. Should be here by the time we get back from Halamshiral."

Bull squeezed her shoulder affectionately. "Thanks, boss. And you too, Dennet."

The horsemaster eyed the two with a thin, professional smile and then nodded, moving off to see to his other duties.

Once Dennet had gone, Bull added, nodding to the stallion, "But if this thing throws me off, I'm turning it into sausages."

Melora snorted a laugh, elbowing Bull in the side. "He's not going to throw you off. He's a big sweetheart. Just like you. And besides, you won't be able to eat him after you've given him a name."

"A name?"

"Of course. He's yours now. You've got to name him."

Bull watched the horse, frowning skeptically. "They really call this kind a Charger?"

Melora nodded. "I think this one comes from draft horse stock originally, but he's been bred leaner, for speed and agility. His line has kept the strength though." She nudged Bull a little, pushing him forward. "Go on, say hello. Let him sniff you."

"He's not gonna bite me?"

"Not unless you're made of carrots."

Little more than an hour later, the Inquisition began the journey to Halamshiral, the senior staff mounted in the courtyard, ready to join up with the others already on the road. Those staying behind had gathered to see them off, waving from the battlements and clustered on the wall in the upper bailey. At the head of the line, Melora sat astride her little mare, sitting easy in the saddle, though she had not ridden in a while.

And when the line began to move, a great cheer rose from the gathered crowd. Melora turned in the saddle, looking at all of them, and she could not help but smile, lifting a hand to wave to them. She felt a bit silly, waving as if she were at the head of some parade, but their enthusiasm was infectious, and their Inquisitor should acknowledge it somehow.

Right behind her, Bull sat stiff and uneasy, clutching too tightly at the reins of his magnificent new stallion, Sausages.


	25. Chapter 25

Melora looked down at the hairbrush in her hand, fingers clenched tight around the handle, and then she flung the brush across the room with a frustrated cry. It bounced off an ornate tufted sofa and onto the thick Antivan rug on the floor. She scowled at the brush where it sat, hoping it'd learned its lesson, but then she heaved a sigh and stalked over to retrieve it before flopping back down on the chair at the dressing table by the window. Sour and gloomy, she stared back at herself in the mirror, her hair as snarled as her thoughts.

She had been trying for what felt like ages now to arrange her hair into something appropriate for the ball, but she could not recall how it had been done for her in the past. It'd taken a servant half an hour of tugging and prodding at her, raking her hair this way and that, twisting and pinning it high on her head until her mother or older sisters proclaimed it acceptable. But that had been only once or twice a year for holidays, when Melora was given leave from the Circle to visit her family at her mother's request. She had spent most of that time simply trying to smile and nod, avoiding her father, keeping her head down and reminding herself it was just three days. She had found returning to the Circle each time a strange relief, as sick as it made her, trading one prison for another.

She hadn't paid much attention to her hairdo. And she hadn't had any of those holidays away from the Circle in years.

Melora sighed at herself in the mirror. She could hear the hurried clatter of shoes in the hall outside, and a while ago, the coaches had arrived at the front of the chateau, wheels crunching on the gravel drive. For all her efforts trying to do something with her hair, all she'd gotten tonight was sore arms and a headache, and it was almost time to leave for the Winter Palace.

The Winter Palace. The Empress's Winter Palace at Halamshiral. The absurdity, the very idea! Oh Maker, _what was she doing?_ She would be facing the entire imperial court, under the scrutiny of all those eyes hidden behind jeweled masks. The _Empress_ herself would be there. Somehow, it was Melora's responsibility to protect her, to save the Empress from the assassins and prevent that terrible future from becoming a reality. And Melora couldn't even master her own hair.

Melora's mirror self stared back at her with wide, dark eyes. Those eyes seemed so innocent, so unchanged from the reflection she remembered from before this all began. It seemed to have gone by in both a blink and a lifetime. She had seen so much, haunted by that dark future. And she had done so much, too, so much blood on her hands. There would be a great deal more before she was done.

Those small, trembling hands moved over her hair, pulling the hairpins from the mess she'd made, combing the worst of it out with her fingers, and then she went over it one more time with the brush until it lay smooth upon her back, spilling past her waist. Her hands could slay dragons, but apparently, not arrange a hairstyle. But her hair could wait for now, and then she could try again to arrange it, once the throbbing in her left hand subsided.

She refused to ask for help, as much as she knew she probably needed it. Everyone was already helping so much as it was, following her into this madness. It was she who needed to do better, to be better, to be so much more than she was. It's what they needed of her. She had to be _everything_. There was no other choice, no other possible course but to be good enough. She had seen what would happen if she failed here, seen the faces of everyone she cared about, tortured as much by the taint of red lyrium as they were twisted by the hatred they held for her, and her failure to save them.

Her chest clenched, and Melora swallowed hard, breath shuddering as she looked at her face staring back at her in the mirror.

This was not about her damned hair. It was about _everything._ Tonight was critical. If the Empress died, if the assassins succeeded, and if Orlais was to become unstable, there might be no stopping the cascade of events that would follow, leading to the horrors she had witnessed in that terrible future. There was little comfort in the knowledge that she wouldn't have to witness most of it, as her death would almost certainly be one of the first.

Melora opened the small wooden box of cosmetics she had brought with her. Tiny stoppered bottles and pots filled the box's interior, with a few little brushes tucked away on the side. Her fingers moved over the glass bottles, and she stopped on one, smaller than the rest and tucked in the corner. The tiny vial was no bigger than her smallest finger. She plucked it from the box and turned to the lamp on the side of the dressing table, holding the vial over the flame, feeling it warm until it was nearly too hot to touch. Wincing at the hot glass, she pulled the cork from the vial and poured a single drop of its precious contents onto the tip of her finger before replacing the cork.

The droplet glistened in the warm light, a shivering liquid garnet on her fingertip. Its surface reflected her face back to her, distorted and strange, seeming to shift in the flickering light. She could feel the heat of it on her fingertip, radiant with latent power. Before she could talk herself out of it, she placed the drop on her tongue, licking her finger to get every trace.

It tasted of flame, of smoke, of fire that rolled untamed across the landscape and consumed all it touched. Melora coughed, holding her hand over her mouth, tongue seared with the heat of it. Her eyes watered and she forced herself to swallow, sending the burn of it down her throat and into the pit of her stomach.

She doubled over, spluttering, eyes streaming down her cheeks, and she gasped for breath until the feeling of burning from the inside out began to fade. She blinked once, twice, and then straightened, swiped at her face, wiping away the wetness there, and caught a glimpse of herself again in the mirror.

The fire was inside her now, flames licking low within her eyes, radiant with purifying light. She could feel it, too, tendrils of heat working their way down her limbs, swirling through her body, vines of flame glowing and blossoming from beneath her skin. She could nearly see it if she looked hard enough, ethereal roses of shimmering red-orange sprouting from her flesh as she gazed down at her arms, blooming with an incandescent glow and then bursting into a shower of sparks and crumbling into ash, only to grow anew moments later. Thorns raked at her skin too, rippling prickles of pain through every part of her, faint enough she could close her eyes and focus on the sensation, to turn the pain to pleasure and sink into it with a smile.

Blessed Andraste, she felt _good._ Really, _really_ good.

Melora opened her eyes and saw that her reflection in the mirror grinned back at her, the face she saw there no longer wide-eyed and afraid, but set ablaze. A righteous flame burned within Melora now, the fire of Andraste alight within her Herald.

Melora looked down at the box of cosmetics and brushed her fingertips over the stopper of the tiny vial of dragon's blood, thinking of the awesome creature who had given its life that she might have this precious gift. The same dragon's tooth lay against her chest, and Bull's. Melora looked down at her half, running her thumb over the beautifully decorated curves of it. How much had that beast's death brought to her? That moment of pure joy, covered in blood and spinning in Bull's arms as he laughed. Her reputation as a formidable fighter, capable of slaying a dragon. The tooth that symbolized her bond with Bull, which might never have been forged without that shared ecstasy of victory. The smile Bull had that day, the same smile he had every time the dragon was mentioned, that glowing smile of pride and unabashed happiness. And the dragon had given her this blood, too, which could give her the power and focus she needed to do what she must.

There were more than a dozen other little vials like this one hidden away in a box back in Skyhold, tucked in the back of the cabinet where she kept her yarn. Blood enough to last for months, if taken drop by single drop and only when needed. Blood enough to give her the strength she needed to close the rifts, to defeat Corypheus, and to save Thedas.

She flicked her eyes to the mask sitting upon the dressing table, a delicate confection of gold filigree, trimmed with tiny black feathers and dusted with emeralds. It was beautiful… and it was all wrong. Despite the Inquisition's emblem in the center, the mask was still distinctly Orlesian in style, created by the finest mask-maker in Orlais. But Melora was a Marcher, the Inquisition based in Ferelden, and made up of peoples from across Thedas. Orlais… Oh, it was beautiful, with its grand boulevards lined with statues, tall gleaming towers trimmed in brightly-coloured flags dancing in the breeze, and everywhere, _gold_ , so adorned with wealth it was almost obscene. Yet despite all its surface beauty, the Veil was drawn so thin here at Halamshiral that she could feel it with every movement, sliding around her like fog. The Veil only thinned like this in places that had been host to countless deaths. Halamshiral was built on bloody ground, and no amount of gold and jewels could erase it. She would not wear Orlais upon her brow.

Melora instead selected a squat little jar from the box of cosmetics. With a thick, soft brush, she began to apply its contents to her face: the finest kohl, a gift from Dorian from his own collection. She painted it in a wide, solid band from temple to temple, across her eyes from eyebrow to cheekbone and over the bridge of her nose, a mask painted directly onto her skin instead of worn. It matched the black of her gown and made her wide-set eyes seem even larger, gleaming amber in the firelight reflected within them and burning behind them. She finished by adding a swipe of gold over each eyelid, and then examined her reflection with a faint smile.

The thought struck her, looking at herself like this, lit as she was in flickering lamplight, hair laying shining upon her shoulders... Every painting, every statue, every depiction of Andraste that Melora had ever seen, the bride of the Maker had worn her hair loose, with no adornment save an occasional circlet resting upon her divine forehead.

Melora looked nothing like herself now, in this dress, her hair loose, face painted, eyes aflame. She didn't want to be herself tonight. She needed to be better than herself, to be more than she could ever be alone. She needed to be the Herald of Andraste. She needed to be the Inquisitor. Tonight, like this, she _could_ be those things. She _was_ those things.

She looked nothing like the Orlesians, or even like a Free Marcher. She scarcely even looked human.

Tonight, Melora invoked Andraste herself, illuminated from within by the holy fire of the Maker's light, life and death held captive in her dark, glittering eyes. Her lips twisted in a thin smile, the only warmth in it a glowing coal that threatened to burst into flame, a low and latent hunger, ravenous to consume all who might stand against her.

 _Remember the fire_ , Andraste had said. _You must pass through it alone to be forged anew._

Melora could do better than pass through the fire. She had become the fire.

 

~*~

 

Melora slid her palm over the handrail as she stepped down the stairs, the hem of her dress like black liquid flowing from step to step behind her. The wood rail dragged cool and smooth beneath her touch, strangely pleasurable. She could feel the shift of the fabric around her body, the way the muscles beneath her skin strained at the leather straps around her upper thighs, concealing her daggers bound to each leg, metal warmed to her skin.

The bodice and hips of her gown were stiffened with thick plates of hardened, Fade-touched leather, the layers sliding over each other beneath the fine silk and velvet. Her gown glittered with emerald and gold beads, a galaxy of twinkling stars adorning the black silk night encircling her. The fabric fell in a glittering arc to the floor, flared just enough at the hips to conceal the armored underskirt which protected her from hip to knee. At her shoulders, iridescent black raven's feathers extended in twin fans that fluttered as she moved, a small nod to her new apostate status.

She gathered the heavy hem in a handful as she descended the stairs, the entire bottom edge intricately beaded, the length hiding the black boots that reached to her knees, providing far better protection than any delicate dancing slippers. And all of it: the bodice of her dress, tops of her boots, even a line above the feathers at her shoulders, had been adorned with an edging of fine black lace.

Together, all the concealed pieces were not half the protection she wore any normal day, but they were far better than no armor at all.

As she turned at the landing, Melora took her gloves from one hand and slipped them on, knitted black lace over her fingers and wrists and solid upon her palms, concealing her mark. A gold pin bearing the emblem of the Inquisition studded a gather of fabric at her hip, and her half of the dragon's tooth lay atop her gown between her breasts.

"Ah, there she is," she heard Josephine say, and Melora looked to the bottom of the stairs, where the rest of the Inquisition's party had gathered, ready to leave for the Winter Palace. The journey was not far, the palace forming the centerpiece of a cluster of lavish estates at Halamshiral, including the smaller chateau in which they stayed, part of the grounds owned by a friend of Duke Gaspard.

Almost all of them had dressed in the same colours: black, emerald, and gold, and they all wore a gold Inquisition pin. Josephine gleamed in gold, touches of black and green trimming her shining ruffles. Leliana's dress looked like moss, a multi-tonal green velvet. Vivienne looked as though she would fit in perfectly in the Orlesian court, her gold and emerald gown full with layers of underpinnings, her regal face adorned with a delicate gold mask. Cullen, Cassandra, and Blackwall had gone with black military uniforms, trimmed with gold, and Varric and Dorian wore well-tailored suits, the gold and black suiting Dorian far better than Varric. Solas stood with his arms crossed near the door, his robes pale straw-gold and green, though for some reason, he wore a very odd onion-shaped hat. Sera had a sour expression, sulking at being dragged along to the ball, already rumpled in her green dress. Cole was there, too, though he wore his normal brown leathers and wide-brimmed hat, his Inquisition pin stuck in the brim.

But it was only the Iron Bull that Melora saw, and she could not take her eyes from him. Her breath caught in her throat as he turned to look up at her, and she was unable to do anything but stare.

Bull was _magnificent_ , wearing a suit of the same black silk as her gown, trimmed in gold. A line of tiny gold buttons set with glittering emeralds closed his coat, and he wore the Inqusition's pin upon his chest. The tracing of gold piping in a vast sea of inky black gave a striking effect, highlighting beautifully the unlikely proportions of his immense form, accentuating the great breadth of his shoulders, the thickness of his arms, the power of his heavily muscled legs.

Melora's eyes lingered, too, on the front of his trousers, and the corner of her mouth drew up in a pleasant little smirk. She understood now why he usually wore trousers that were not so closely fitted.

The suit was amazing on him, yet it was not just the clothing he wore that had her captivated. His horns were tipped with gold caps, and he wore a new patch over his ruined eye, black silk edged in a twist of gold. His good eye was lined with kohl, and he had brought his own touch of raw emerald, glimmering in the pale grey-green of his eye. His piece of the dragon's tooth lay in the center of his chest, displayed just as proudly as her own.

But it was the way he looked at her, wordless and awestruck, that made it hard to breathe. She'd never seen him anything like this. Not even after they'd killed the dragon had he seemed so reverently dazed.

Melora's skin already felt as if it were set alight, her pulse pounding hard in her ears. But for him to look at her like _this_ , she felt sure she must be truly incandescent now.

Cullen cleared his throat, shuffling his feet as he stood in the doorway. "Now that the Inquisitor has joined us, we should depart."

"Yes, let's get this over with," grumbled Blackwall.

"You're sure to be the life of the party," said Vivienne, smiling at the Warden as she followed Cullen out the door.

"They're gonna at least have booze, yeah?" Sera said with a grin, elbowing Blackwall in a friendly nudge.

The rest of them filed out toward the waiting coaches, leaving Bull and Melora alone for a moment.

Bull let out the breath he'd been holding, and his face split into a wide grin. He stepped forward to the base of the stairs, shaking his head slowly. "Damn. Look at you. You look fucking amazing, _kadan._ That dress, and your hair, and that…" He gestured to her face, at the wide band of black painted over her eyes. "I can't wait to see the look on those Orlesian assholes' faces when they see you. They're not gonna have a clue what to make of you."

Melora laughed softly, smiling at him as she came down the last few steps. "Yes, I'm sure I'll be far more perplexing than the magnificent horned giant in their midst."

Bull grinned, offering his arm to her. "So that's why you brought me along? Take the attention off you?"

She lay her hand on his forearm, and she could feel the thin plates of hardened leather beneath his suit, as had been added to all their finery. Their mission was to foil an assassination, and they were all at risk.

"I brought you along," she said, smiling up at him, "Because I can't imagine doing this without you. And because you look _damn_ good in a suit."

"I look damn good anyway."

Melora smirked, nodding thoughtfully. "That you do."

Bull covered her hand on his arm with his own, rubbing at her skin as if to warm it. "Nervous?" he asked her as they passed together through the chateau's front door, the scent of night-blooming flowers brought to them on the cool early evening air, their shoes crunching on the gravel drive.

Melora inclined her head to look up at him, at the hard angles of his scarred face, painted with kohl and moonlight. "No," she said, smiling up at him, sparks dancing in her eyes. There was the faintest flicker of a confused frown across Bull's brow, but it disappeared quickly when Melora lifted a hand to the back of his neck, pulling him down to her for an ardent kiss. She ignored the titters of the others gathered near the coaches. Sera shouted something lewd, but Melora couldn't quite make it out, and truly, she didn't care.


	26. Chapter 26

From the moment she stepped from the coach and entered the gilded gates of the Winter Palace, Melora could feel the stares clinging to her skin like the scent of smoke. Other looks did not linger but stung and darted away when chased with her own gaze. Many simply stared openly. Half-hidden behind masks, hundreds of eyes sought the Inquisitor, wishing for their glimpse of the mysterious Herald of Andraste they had heard so much of.

They separated around Melora as she moved through them like a shark through a shoal of fish, and as she did, she caught snippets of voices in Orlesian around her.

_"I thought she'd be taller."_

_"That can't be the Inquisitor. She doesn't look any older than my Gabrielle!"_

_"Why isn't she wearing a mask?"_

_"Why is the Inquisition here? The Divine is dead, and the Inquisition should be, too."_

_"Where she goes, bad news follows!"_

Melora looked up at the Winter Palace, its towers gleaming gold and white against the deep blue evening sky, and she paid no notice to the words and stares of the Orlesians around her.

Her companions attracted their own attention, too. A cluster of admirers soon formed around Varric, a carillon of brightly-coloured skirts quickly hiding him from view, but Melora could still hear him laughing from the center of the bunch. Vivienne glided off to a group of friends who cooed in delight upon seeing her. And there were few present who did not already know of Cassandra, greeting her with the respect owed to the Right Hand of the Divine.

And never more than a half dozen steps from the Inquisitor, the Iron Bull drew his own gawkers, heads craned to gape up at the huge horned man who towered over everyone else. Even as the Grand Duke approached, arms wide, his eyes flicked up to the Inquisitor's bodyguard.

"Inquisitor Trevelyan, we meet at last," said the Grand Duke, addressing her in the common tongue. "I've heard so much about you. Bringing the rebel mages into the ranks of your army was brilliant. Imagine what the Inquisition could accomplish with the full support of the rightful Emperor of Orlais!"

The Inquisitor folded her hands together slowly, making him wait, shaking her head in mock confusion as she looked up at the Grand Duke with wide, innocent eyes, peering curiously at him. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"I am not a man who forgets his friends, Inquisitor. You help me… I'll help you." The Grand Duke gave her a smile, tipping his head toward the palace, and he put out a hand, offering it to her. "Are you prepared to shock the assembly by appearing as the guest of a hateful usurper? They will be telling stories of this into the next age." The words came with a laugh, as if the civil war in Orlais were merely a game. But of course, to him, it was… the Grand Game. And he assumed so openly that the Inquisition would support his attempts to seize the throne. Smug twit.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Grand Duke," said the Inquisitor, her hands still folded together at her waist. "I look forward to ending this civil war."

"As do I, my friend. The empire needs stability and security now, more than ever."

"I agree," Melora said, nodding, ignoring the Grand Duke's outstretched hand. The empire _did_ need stability and security, though Gaspard was hardly the best choice to provide those.

"We're keeping the court waiting, Inquisitor," he said with a smile, even as he clenched his offered hand and brought it back to his side. "Shall we?"

The Inquisitor and Grand Duke walked together up to the ballroom, the Inquisitor's bodyguard following some distance behind. The Inquisitor listened as the Grand Duke told of plots to disrupt the negotiations, and expected her to investigate. Of course. But if anyone had cause to assassinate the Empress, it was the Grand Duke, and the Inquisitor would not play into his trap. She agreed to look into it, though she would not be doing so on his behalf.

And even as they made their way to the ballroom, still, there were whispers.

_"Is that the Inquisitor?"_

_"What, a Marcher? Don't be absurd!"_

_"One of the Trevelyans, I heard."_

_"Here with Gaspard. Hmph, I told you the Inquisition was trouble."_

Assembled in the ballroom, the rest of the court and the Inquisitor's companions soon joined them, and Melora held her skirt as she stepped down the marble-clad stairs to face the Imperial court and Empress Celene herself.

"And now presenting, Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons."

The Grand Duke bowed to the court, and to the Empress, before strolling down the final set of steps toward the Empress.

"And accompanying him…"

Melora held her head high, still as a statue as she watched the Empress. She could see the Imperial court gathered around the edges of her vision, brightly coloured and murmuring to each other, pressed to the railing lining the ballroom, fans fluttering and making them seem like nothing so much as a gilded cage full of chattering birds. And every one of them had their eyes fixed upon the Inquisitor. Despite the presence of the Empress, it was the Inquisitor that the court focused upon, and Melora could not help but give a slight self-satisfied smile as she bowed low to the Empress. It may have been the Imperial court… but the Inquisitor held their attention.

"Lady Inquisitor Melora Trevelyan, daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick," intoned the announcer, and Melora maintained her tiny smile even as her guts twisted with revulsion at the mention of that name. "Of the Ostwick Circle of Magi."

A faint frown crossed her brow. _Formerly. And never again._

The announcer went on, "Vanquisher of the rebel mages of Ferelden, crusher of the vile apostates of the mage underground!"

Annoyance roiled in her as Melora turned back to stare at the announcer, and she opened her mouth to protest, but before she could, Varric spoke up, grumbling in a stage whisper, "This guy writes better fiction than I do."

Around Varric, there were titters, and more than a few disapproving whispers behind fans. Melora turned back, and made a mental note to bring Varric a bottle of his favourite single malt.

"And Champion of the Blessed Andraste herself!" finished the announcer, and at this, Melora forced a smile back onto her face, making another mental note to have words later with whoever wrote that fucking introduction. She exhaled slow through her nose, the air before her shimmering with the heat of her breath.

Melora waited in silence as the announcer continued, introducing the members of the Inquisition one by one, all of their grand titles and accomplishments laid out for all to hear. That the Inquisitor was accompanied by both the Right Hand and Left Hand of the Divine did not go unnoticed, a murmur moving through the crowd as Cassandra and then Leliana were introduced one after the other. When Melora heard the introduction of one "Mai Bhalsych of Korse," followed by Sera's cackling from behind her, Melora had to press her lips together tight to keep from laughing. Next pair of socks was for Sera, for sure.

Then, the announcer droned, "The Iron Bull, leader of the famed mercenary company, the Bull's Chargers…" The announcer paused, clearing his throat slightly, before he added, dripping with derision, "... As the name might imply."

Melora dug her fingernails into her clasped hands, the pain bringing focus, demanding her attention, keeping her from whirling on the man and setting him aflame. But it did little to calm the flash of anger that roiled within her. Everyone else had their titles and deeds of valor intoned with equal weighty seriousness and no extra comments, even Solas's odd introduction, and Sera's ridiculous one. All of them... except Bull's. It was an outright insult, and one she would not let stand. Yet she could not call out the slight herself. Too direct for the Game. But she could make the insult seem ill considered, directed not at just some mercenary, but instead...

The Inquisitor spoke before the announcer could continue, her voice carrying for all to hear, "And the Right Hand of the Inquisitor."

Silence, and then whispers rose through the crowd. Behind her, she heard Sera's baffled, "Since when?"

Melora wanted to look back at Bull, to give him a wink and a grin, but better she remain still, and appear as though she was simply correcting an error in the text given to the announcer. She wished she'd done the same with that utter rubbish about her vanquishing the rebel mages.

With the introductions concluded, it was time to speak to the Empress, and the Inquisitor stepped forward to the far side of the ballroom, looking up at Empress Celene. The Empress was resplendent in royal blue, golden mask gleaming. But their conversation was all pleasantries and court nonsense, ridiculous weather metaphors that the Inquisitor played along with, smiling sweetly, even as she wanted to grit her teeth and clench her fists in frustration at this vapid waste of time. She could not warn the Empress of the coming danger, not here, not openly, with everyone watching. So she concluded the pointless little chat with a bow, and moved off to speak to Leliana.

Leliana briefed Melora on the situation, suggesting the Empress's arcane advisor might be involved, and to search the guest wing. Melora expected a question about Bull's surprise appointment, but no question came, and Melora took her leave, heading back into the crowd.

She didn't look for Bull. She didn't need to. Before she had taken more than a dozen paces, he appeared there beside her as if he had never left. He had kept her within his sight since they had arrived at the palace, looking for any sign of threat. The Inquisitor could be just as much of a target for assassins as the Empress, and the survival of both was equally important.

"We need to head to the guest wing," she said quietly, tipping her head so that Bull was the only one who could hear, and then she pointed her chin off to one side. "I think it's that way."

"Let's make our way over there slowly. Look like we're mingling. We go right over, someone might get suspicious. Don't look around too much, though. Play it like we're circulating and seeing what there is to see."

Melora nodded, and she slipped her hand onto Bull's forearm, moving together with him through the crowd.

"So, Right Hand, huh?" Bull asked.

Melora smiled up at him. "Is that not what you are?"

"Well, for one thing, I'm usually on your left." Indeed, he walked on her left now. She was used to him being there. He always kept her on his right so he didn't have to turn so far to see her. He slept on the left side of the bed, too.

Melora opened her mouth and then closed it again, paused, and said, "Well, _shit_. Bit late now, isn't it? Besides, the position in my left hand has already been filled by... whatever this mark is." She turned her hand where it rested on his sleeve, glinting green on black silk.

Bull chuckled as they skirted around a large group of laughing Orlesians who stopped and stared at the two of them as they passed. He ignored them. "So, I get a pay raise with this promotion?"

"Mm, I suppose you should. I have no idea how much we pay you, actually, but whatever it is, it's not enough. I'll talk to Josephine."

Bull gave a little snort. "I was kidding, but sure, I'll take it. Guess it pays off, sleeping with the boss."

But Melora frowned, looking up at him, letting him lead her through the crowd. "You know I would have done the same even if we weren't…" _Whatever we are._ She paused, looking at her hand where it rested upon his arm. "Even if _this_ never happened, you were still always by my side. You _are_ my Right Hand, and you have been for a long time, even without the title. But if these fluttering bastards want to see titles, well, there's one. I'm sure I could come up with more." The flame of anger still burned within her, a hot coal in her chest, and it crept into her voice.

Bull blinked, eyeing her curiously. "You don't need to give me titles just to prove something to these assholes."

Melora lifted her chin, looking at him from the corner of her eye. "It wasn't _just_ to prove something to them. It's because you deserve it. You are an essential part of the Inquisition. There is no better description of your position than Right Hand. The Right Hand of the Divine is her protector, the sword arm of the Sunburst Throne. Cassandra was given the title after she saved the Divine at the Ten Year Gathering. What are you to me, officially, if not my protector? How many times have you saved my life, taken a blow meant for me, bled for me? And killed in my name, for the Inquisition and Inquisitor? That is what a Right Hand does. All I've done is give you an accurate title."

"You think people aren't gonna have a problem with you giving a title like that to a Tal-Vashoth mercenary? Especially when that title also implies a trusted advisor, not just a loyal blade?"

"You _are_ my most trusted advisor. You always have been. Of course, I value the rest of them… but almost all of them are Andrastian, and when I am her Herald, that changes things, whether they believe Andraste chose me or not. You… you are not swayed by my titles or the touch of Andraste. You tell me plainly your thoughts. And… you know me, more than anyone ever has. You understand me. No one else has your insight."

Bull's mouth twisted. "That wasn't what I was getting at. The Inquisitor just elevated the Tal-Vashoth leader of a mercenary company, who was hired as a bodyguard, to about the highest position in the Inquisition besides the Inquisitor. Peoples' first reaction is not gonna be 'surely someone else was better suited to that position' but more like… 'Him?! _Why?!'"_

"I don't _care!"_ Melora growled, and Bull stared down at her wide-eyed. Softer, she said, "Their disapproval of you makes you no less valuable."

Very slowly and carefully, Bull replied, "No, but it sure ain't good for the _Inquisitor_ , to have people doubting her judgement. Because people will judge you based on who you surround yourself with."

Before Melora could respond, a nearby voice came to them, a woman speaking a little too loud to ignore. _"Oh, look! The Inquisitor has a pet qunari! My, and such a large one, too."_

Melora glanced around, looking for who had spoken. A short distance behind them, a pair of Orlesian noble ladies, gaudy in bright red and yellow, fluttered their fans and gave false smiles from behind their masks. Melora and Bull exchanged a look.

"See?" Bull said. "They've been saying shit like that all night. Messing with me. And they think I don't know they're doing it. This keeps up, I'm going to wear somebody's skull as _my_ fancy little mask."

Melora watched the ladies while wearing a false, polite smile of her own, and the ladies stared back, whispering to each other behind their fans. "So mess back," Melora said. "You haven't got your axe, but you needn't still your tongue as well."

Bull gave a bitter laugh. "I wouldn't waste my tongue on them."

"I'm serious," she said, watching him from the corner of her eye. "You don't have to stay silent. You're clever enough to talk circles around them."

Bull shrugged. "Yeah, probably, but there's nothing to gain from me pissing off the nobles. Sure, they're assholes, but you'd be surprised what interesting stuff you can hear if people think you're just a big dumb brute. No sense in tipping my hand just to smack some sense into those two with it."

"You keep telling me I need to be concerned with my reputation. Is it better that the Right Hand of the Inquisitor be seen as a big dumb brute? What an odd choice _that_ would be for the position. Or… is he far more than just raw strength, a man just as powerful in mind as he is in body?"

Bull looked down at her, his lips twisting into a scowl. His words were growled and sharp. "You don't get it. They're never gonna see me like that. Those two, and plenty more here… they don't even see me as a _person_. And no amount of dancing with words at one stupid ball is gonna change that."

Melora stood in silence for a moment, her arm still wrapped around Bull's, and she gave him a little squeeze. "What do we do, then?" she asked softly.

Bull took a deep breath. "This is Imperial court level shit. I'm more about bars and brothels. You should probably be asking Vivienne, Leliana, or Josephine."

"Maybe. But I still want to know what you think."

Bull let out a long, slow breath through his nose, thinking, looking around at the people surrounding them before he said, "These fancy assholes love scheming and gossipping. They want something to talk about. It's like currency for them, juicy gossip. Rather than sit back on their comfy couches with bellies full of food and wine and just be happy ruling half the damn world, they play their Game because they're bored and hungry for more power. If they won't consider you a player in the Game, you're a commodity. So… if you can't be someone they like, be interesting enough that they want to see more. Interesting might even be better than being liked, because there's always some sour asshole who wants to tear down someone who seems too good, but if you're interesting, well, at least they'll want to invite you to parties, and they'll want to see you stay alive to show you off to their guests."

"How do we be interesting, then?"

He shrugged a bit. "I think we're already on our way. They've been staring all night. And yeah, they're dicks, but they sure aren't ignoring us."

"That's a good thing?"

"I dunno. Like I said, bars and brothels. But it does mean they're paying attention to the Inquisitor, and the Inquisition. They think the Inquisition's got power, or at least reputation enough that they're curious. That's something. Might not be the best possible something, but you can probably work with it."

The two waited for their path to clear, blocked temporarily by people spanning the breadth of the space. A slender man in a velvet coat and a white mask turned to stare, and then quickly turned back to the woman he was standing with, whispering in Orlesian, _"Oh, look, do you see?"_

The woman turned to look at Bull and Melora, and then turned back to her companion, laughing as she said, _"Oh, I do see indeed. Guest of Gaspard but it's not his arm she's on."_

Melora and Bull glanced at one another, but said nothing.

 _"I wonder,"_ said the Orlesian woman, _"Has there been an exchange?"_

 _"Oh, you're awful,"_ came the man's laughing reply. " _Right Hand indeed. I'll bet there's other parts she's interested in."_

 _"I didn't mean that!"_ the woman protested, elbowing the man. _"Well, not_ just _that. I meant gifts, or perhaps betrothal."_

_"An apostate and a mercenary! Noble or not, I don't think that needs a betrothal!"_

_"Oh, but look at what they wear, those necklaces. Is that some sort of claw?"_

_"Ah, I think you're right. They both wear them, and none of the rest do. What ugly, clunky things! But then, so is he."_ The two shared a titter of laughter.

Melora tensed, about to go say something, but Bull's other hand settled atop hers on his forearm, pressing firmly. _Don't_ , said the gesture, and reluctantly, she obeyed.

The masked woman continued, almost wistfully. _"Though, I suppose it is quite romantic._ "

 _"Mm, indeed. Two different worlds colliding, such opposites and contrast, life and death drama, oh, I just know the bards will do wonderful things with this once they hear of it. So vicariously satisfying!_ "

The crowd had cleared, and Melora and Bull moved past the gossipy pair without a second glance. And they were quiet as they made their way through the crowd, until Melora looked up at Bull and said, "They don't realize we can speak Orlesian, do they?"

"I don't think they do." Bull looked down at her with a wry smirk.

"We're not going to tell them, are we?"

"No, we're not. Let 'em keep digging."

"I don't understand them. I was introduced as nobility. Surely they know that any noble child of the Free Marches would be just as well educated as an Orlesian noble, with at least a functional knowledge of several languages. Or do they not know what a Bann is? And you've worked all over Orlais. I'm sure there are people here who have hired the Chargers, who you've spoken with before. Why do they assume you can't speak Orlesian, too?"

"They just don't care whether we can understand 'em or not."

They had to stop again, waiting to get past a group of elderly nobles who seemed oblivious to the huge qunari standing behind them. Melora's eyes narrowed as she said, "I think I may have an idea about how we can be interesting."

"Oh?"

Melora turned to him and with her free hand, she ran her fingers over the shining gold buttons of his coat, looking up at him with a sweet little smile. "They want something to talk about, gossip to trade. Well… Seems we already have something they want." She drummed her fingers briefly upon his chest just below where the dragon's tooth hung, as if to emphasize her meaning.

Bull's eye narrowed a fraction, and he tilted his head, covering her hand with his there on his chest. "Hmm. Don't know that I like the idea of letting these assholes in on… this. Us."

"We're not inviting them in. They just get a little peek, and only what we choose to show them."

"I… guess that's an angle to work. They're already speculating, trying to carve off chunks. We throw them scraps and control the rumours. Or at least, steer them where we want them. People like a little bit of scandal. And you just named me your Right Hand."

He took her right hand in his, bringing her fingers to his lips and brushed a kiss over her knuckles, lingering and courtly. Out of the corner of her eye, Melora could see blurs of masks turned in the direction of the two of them, fluttering fans hiding whispers. "How much of a show do we give them?" Melora asked.

Bull laughed, the sound low, wicked with promise, and still he held the back of her fingers to his lips. "Oh, well, that's a tempting question, isn't it?" he chuckled, the puff of breath through his nose hot on her skin even through her glove. His voice got slow then, honey on his tongue, and he leaned closer to engulf her in his shadow, the warmth of his body reaching out for her through the air. "You know, you've been so damn good at following directions, it makes me wonder… just how far does that obedience go?"

He turned her hand over in his palm to expose the curve of her wrist, and he stroked lightly there with the tip of his forefinger before slipping beneath the edge of her glove, just resting his touch there upon her pulse. Bull murmured to her, "Every time I've commanded you to do something, you've done it. In a fight I can tell you to hit the ground, and you're face-down in the mud without a second thought. And you listen just as well when we're alone. So, I wonder what would happen, just what you'd do, if I were to order you to kneel on the floor right there at my feet, right now?"

The rest of the room suddenly seemed very far away, and utterly unimportant. Bull wore a pleasant smile, his huge fingers cradling her hand reverently, still stroking lightly at Melora's inner wrist, and to all observers, it must have simply looked as though they were standing close with her hand in his.

Bull smiled a little wider, and continued, his voice still so smooth it seemed to flow around her like warm water, and she could do nothing but float along in his current. "If I told you to get on your knees, told you to suck me off right now, in front of the whole Orlesian court… What would you do?"

She drew a sharp breath, cheeks flushed pink, and whispered, "You… you wouldn't."

His smile split into a wide grin, and he shook his head, chuckling. "No, of course not. But we're here, and they're all watching. And I'm really not sure what you'd do. Would you obey me? Would you defy me? I don't know. And the fact that I don't know… That _really_ works for me."

At last, Bull tipped his head to her in a small bow and took half a step back. He quirked an eyebrow at her, the look in his eye devilishly obscene. Melora pressed her lips tightly together, forcing back the laughter that threatened to erupt from within her, and she shook her head, eyeing him with amusement. "I'm not sure what I'd do, either."

Bull laughed then with a toss of his horns, and she could not suppress her own laughter in response. She could never have expected she'd be here, in the Winter Palace, dressed in such finery and as an honoured guest. But to be here at Bull's side, to be talking about _this_ , while the whole Orlesian court was watching, his touch chaste and his words wicked… Melora covered her mouth with her fingertips, pressing back the flood of giggles.

Regarding her with a warm smile, Bull said, "They're all still staring."

Melora flicked her gaze left and right briefly, then back to him, nodding. "So they are. Perfect! How about a dance, then?"

Bull chuckled. "Ah, shit, they'd _love_ that. Can you imagine the look on Josephine's face, trying to explain…" He trailed off, and then blinked before saying, "Wait, were you serious? Because if so, then _yeah_ , absolutely. Once we stop the assassins and all that."

Melora made a tiny, happy little noise, rocking on her heels, and Bull gave her a curious look. Melora grinned, explaining, "The look on your face just now, like a little kid at Satinalia, at the idea of dancing with me."

"Yeah, well…"

She'd never seen him so sheepish, ducking his head and rubbing at the back of his neck with his palm, and she could have sworn his cheeks looked a little redder.

Courtly propriety thrown aside, she wrapped her arm around his, flashing him a delighted smile. "Come on. Let's go catch those assassins already so I can dance with you."

"You sure you want me with you for this? You got skulking around to do, that's more your thing, unless you wanna throw a sheet over me and pretend I'm a coat rack."

Melora smirked, hugging his arm. "Right now, I just need to have a look around to figure out what's really going on, and I can't think of anyone I'd rather have with me for that than you. I need your keen eye. If I need to do any proper skulking, you can be my lookout. Besides, Leliana's coordinated with Sera and Cole to do the properly stealthy parts. Sera can have a chat with the servants, and Cole just has to… be Cole. If they find something, Cole can find you."

"Not a bad plan. You know, you almost sound like you're having fun with this."

Melora pulled him along with her toward the guest wing, glancing up at him, flames glittering from within her eyes. "I think I am. It's a beautiful night, we're in these clothes in this fancy palace, trying to save the world and probably about to go kick some ass. This _is_ fun."

Bull threw his head back and laughed, and neither of them paid any mind to the stares they drew. "Hah, shit yeah! Let's go show some assassins a really, _really_ bad time."

~*~

Melora leaned against the cool marble railing on one of the wide terraces adorning the exterior of the Winter Palace. The great statue of Andraste stood tall, blue-white in the moonlight, gazing down at her Herald. Below, the lights of Halamshiral were diffused by the mist in the darkness. And on the terrace, Melora stood alone, paying no mind to the chill on her skin. She'd given up on her gloves in the gardens after the third time she'd been thrown into a rosebush, the intricate beaded knitting of her gloves shredded by thorns and caked in mud. After the bottom hem of her skirt had been soaked through in mud and blood, she'd cut that off, too, hacking hastily at the fabric until it hung tattered around her knees, loose beads falling occasionally from the cut edge. Her armored skirt peeked from beneath the torn hem, armor plates exposed too at her waist. A gash above her left hip had torn clean through the fabric, armor, and flesh. It still stung, but the bleeding had stopped.

After she had met with the magical advisor to the Empress and spoken with Josephine, the Inquisitor had been waylaid by half a dozen nobles wishing to chat, and Bull had ushered her outside to get some air. She knew he was standing guard inside the door, keeping anyone else from bothering her. The proximity of that doorway to one of the buffet tables likely had as much to do with Bull's choice of terrace as the relative quiet.

Melora pressed the heels of her hands to her face, trying to clear her thoughts. The black band of kohl across her eyes was already smudged, and a cut on her forehead just below her hairline had painted the side of her face crimson. When she brought her hands away again, she looked down at them, dirt and blood under her fingernails, palms scraped from climbing, arms scratched bloody by grasping thorns. Her mark pulsed bright there on her left palm, still crackling from closing the rift in the palace, tendrils of green snaking out from it to reach toward her fingers and wrist, crawling under her skin. She clenched her left hand closed, hiding the light of her mark, knuckles white as she tried to still its hum. Melora could _hear_ it now, its beat matching her heart, and it was so _loud_. She could barely hear herself think, and she squeezed her eyes shut, swearing under her breath.

She had won, just as she knew she would. The assassination had been foiled and somehow, a tentative peace had been established between the Empress, the Grand Duke, and Briala. Whether or not that peace would hold remained to be seen, but that was up to the Orlesians.

Maker, the world was ending, and it seemed as though all anyone in Orlais wanted to do about it was bicker and fight with each other about who got to sit in the biggest chair at the next fancy party. The world was tearing itself open, the sky ripped apart, and yet the Inquisitor had to stand on a balcony patiently explaining that they'd all fucked up somehow and maybe it'd be best if everyone could just get along for a little while until all these pesky demons stopped showing up unannounced. Though she did not say so to them, after that, Melora didn't give a damn if they burned all of Orlais to the ground. From what she'd seen of it, it might improve the place.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Melora gazed out at the darkened hills, at this place that had already seen so much suffering. The Long Walk, the Exalted March of the Dales… So much misery, so many lives lost. She had added to the blood spilled on the ground here, thinning the Veil even further. But she knew how much worse it would have been had the assassins been allowed to succeed. She had seen the result of that first-hand.

Melora turned to look up at the statue of Andraste, the bride of the Maker standing so grand and tall, gleaming in the moonlight, and Melora studied the statue's face as cloud shadows shifted across the polished stone. Her hand throbbed, and she clenched it at her side. "Guess you could've picked a worse Herald," Melora whispered to Andraste. "I've made it this far."

Andraste said nothing.

Melora closed her eyes, and felt the heat simmering on her skin, blood still running hot. It wasn't just her mark that was thrumming, but all of her, a soundless vibration that would not let her rest. The beat of the mark pounded relentlessly inside her skull, and Melora pushed off the railing, pacing.

The fury of the fight had been _glorious_ , mind and body sharpened to a razor's edge of awareness and accuracy. Assassins had fallen to her blades, and demons too, death brought to these ornate rooms and gardens. In her mind's eye, she saw a flicker of images, seared into her memory, the night a blur of sensation. Blood dripping from the white roses in the garden. Fire from an errant spell catching on her dress, feeling its heat, yet it did not harm her; the fire was already a part of her. Bull's eye, glinting emerald in the light of the rift, narrowing in understanding as he saw her coming and dropped his horns so she could roll over his back and fling herself at the demon behind him, leaving to him the one chasing close at her heels. Huge grey hands sliding beneath her dress, up her thighs, and pulling off her smalls for a quick fuck against a wall in a storeroom when they'd stopped to catch their breath. The heady smell of the flowers blooming, the choking stink of smoke, and the copper tang of blood and death lingering at the back of her tongue even now, bitter against the faint tang and sweetness of the fine Antivan wine she'd sipped in the ballroom earlier.

She felt Bull approaching before she heard him, an awareness that reached out to him, like a breath of wind on the back of her neck. Melora cast a glance over her shoulder as he came through the doorway, and she stopped there, just to watch him, the way he strolled toward herwith , his easy smile and loping gait. One of the golden caps on his horns had fallen off, and his suit was just as torn and bloodied as her dress. He hadn't come away unscathed either, but they saw worse on an average day in the Hinterlands. He flashed her a grin, canines sharp and white in the moonlight. "They ran out of that cheese dip," he said, hooking his thumb back toward the doorway. "I asked for more, and they just gave me this _look._ The assholes."

Melora reached out her hand to him, and he took it in his, pulling her close. She pressed her face to his chest and closed her eyes, marveling at the chain of events that had brought her here, able to simply hold out her hand and end up in the embrace of this magnificent man.

"How you doing?" he asked.

She looked up at him and offered him a thin smile. "I… I really don't know. It's been a crazy night."

Bull sniffed, nodding. "Yeah, damn right it has. But listen." He smiled at her, looking into her eyes.

Melora listened for a moment, and then shook her head. "I don't hear anything, except maybe a little wind and a bit of the music from inside."

"Exactly," Bull said. "Nobody trying to kill you, or worse, talk to you about politics. It's a nice night, we're in a fancy palace, you're in that dress…"

Melora laughed softly, looking down at herself. "There's not much left of it, and all of that's filthy."

He rolled a shrug, skimming his hands over her arms. "So? Still looks good on you. Better now, I think."

"Half my dress is gone and I'm soaked to the skin in blood. Literally." She truly was, after she had opened the throat of one of the assassins and hadn't gotten out of the way in time, drenching her in a hot fountain of arterial spray.

"I know," he said, running his hand over her hair, sticky there too with blood, though he didn't seem to mind. "This'll probably sound weird, but… I like you like this. You fought hard, you fought well, and you _won._ Just have to take one look at you to see all that." But then he paused, patting at her hair over her back, and pulled something from it. He held it up to the moonlight and said, "Is that a _tooth?"_

Melora looked up at the thing in his fingertips, pale yellow and bloody. "I think it is."

Bull ran his tongue over his teeth. "Not one of mine."

"Not mine, either."

Bull flung the tooth over the railing and wiped his hand on his trousers. He grinned down at Melora, and there was a delighted growl in his voice. "That was a great fight, wasn't it? Kicking ass and fighting demons through a palace in fancy clothes… And only a little of that is your blood. Plus, you got some guy's tooth stuck in your hair!"

Melora laughed. "You think every fight's a great fight."

Bull shook his head and chuckled, but there was a rueful squint to his eye. "Nah. There's bad fights too." He pressed his lips together a moment, but then the light came back into his smile as he continued, "But any fight you walk away from is a good one. And sometimes, there are great ones."

"Like fighting a dragon?"

He threw his head back and laughed. "Nah. That's way beyond great. Fighting a dragon, that takes 'great' and tenderly face-fucks it."

Melora clamped a hand over her mouth, snorting through her fingers. "Not sure that's something that can be done tenderly, but if you say so," she snickered.

"I could show you later," Bull rumbled, leaning in close. "There's this one little spot you can press on to relax your throat and you just lay back and then…"

She gave him a playful shove. "I can think of less pleasant ways to die, but you'd have a tough time explaining how the Inquisitor choked to death on your dick."

"Sounds pretty easy to explain to me. You just did, in about half a dozen words."

Melora rolled her eyes at him but she was still smiling, and she stepped into his arms again, resting her head against him and dragging handfuls of his coat into her palms to squeeze him tight. She was glad of his closeness, and she took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of him, musky with sweat and with the tang of blood and smoke, layered over the lavender and cedar scenting his suit. He smelled like the fight now, more like him.

She was tired, she could feel in her muscles and bones, but her blood was still wide awake, and she lifted her face to look up at him, sparks in her eyes. "How about that dance?"

Bull glanced toward the doorway. "If you still want to…" She wasn't sure whether that was uncertainty in his voice, or if he was just giving her an easy out.

Melora took a step back, and she extended a hand to him with a dramatic bow, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "May I please have this dance, the Iron Bull?"

Bull beamed a smile at her, taking her hand in his. "You can have all of 'em, _kadan_."

Together, they walked hand in hand into the warmth of the ballroom, leaving behind the cool night air.

A murmur pressed around them as soon as they entered, growing as more and more masked faces turned to watch them. They hadn't exactly blended in before, but now, disheveled and streaked with blood, their presence stirred the wagging tongues of the court. By now, the depth of the Inquisitor's involvement in the night's events must have spread, her pivotal role clear when she had stood with the Empress. And now, she stood before them once more, dark eyes seeming to glow with a strange golden light from within the black frame of kohl smudged across her face. The pair was bruised and bloody, tracking dirt from the garden onto the shining floor… and they were _still here_ , still in the midst of the court.

Melora pushed back her bloody hair from her shoulders, flicking wetness from her fingers onto the floor. She would not remove herself to find a mirror to dab away the blood, or tidy her hair and change her clothes. She had bled for these people, to save their lives, to save everyone's lives. Blood was the fuel of the Game, whether its players realized it or not, and she would not hide it from these fluttering fools. She had killed for them, too; most of the blood she wore tonight was not her own. Let them see what price had been paid for their lives.

She led the way through the crowd, trailing Bull by the hand behind her. Between their hands, green sparks flickered, and those close enough to see gasped, turning to one another to ask if their eyes deceived them. Melora mark's light sparkled off the buttons on Bull's coat and the beads still clinging to her gown, and made the smears of blood on their skin look as black as the silk they wore.

Bodies parted in her path, wrapping them in whispers muffled by masks. Snippets of Orlesian came to Melora, her mind translating even as she wished she could ignore their prattle.

_"What do they think they're doing?"_

_"Shouldn't she rest after all of this? Poor little thing, just look at her. She's still bleeding!"_

_"Nothing but an apostate grabbing for power if you ask me!"_

_"They're getting mud all over the floor!"_

_"Maker's mercy! How could those two even… I mean, how does that even work?"_

_"Won't someone tell her to take her ox out of here?"_

_"Isn't it past her bedtime?"_

Melora ignored them, glancing back over her shoulder to flash Bull a smile, pulling him with her to the center of the ballroom. Neither paid much attention to the couples around them who had stopped dancing to stare instead. Even the band faltered, the song stuttering to a halting discord, and then silence.

Another murmur rolled through the crowd as the Inquisitor and the Iron Bull bowed their heads to one another, exchanging knowing smiles. They had never danced together like this. But they _had_ danced together before, learning to move together as if they were two limbs of the same body. And that had been in the thick of battle on uneven terrain, not on a smooth, polished dance floor. If they could keep from treading on one another's toes while fighting for their lives in the thick of combat, a dance would be no challenge at all. That is, if Bull knew how to dance...

 _Bars and brothels_ , he had said, but when Melora extended her hand to him, Bull took it delicately in his fingers and ghosted a kiss over her scuffed, bloody knuckles. Perfect and gentlemanly, he turned his eye to gaze up the line of her arm, and beamed a smile, radiant with confidence. He wouldn't have agreed to this if he didn't know what he was doing.

Melora could not contain her grin, and she gazed awed up at him. The tip of one ear and his right cheek were slashed with a cut deep enough to scar. The kohl around his eye had smeared, and his suit was torn and streaked with blood and dirt. And he stood here, with her, in the center of the ballroom at the Winter Palace, _the actual fucking Winter Palace,_ beaming with delight at getting to dance with _her._ This beautiful, brilliant riddle of a man stood luminous before her, and his eye was fixed on her alone.

Bull gave Melora a fiendish arch of his eyebrow as the musicians regained their composure and began the next song. He swept his arm around her, pulling her with him into the first steps of the dance.

The song was familiar, the melody twisting and turning. Melora recognized it, _The Dragon's Eye_ , an old song played throughout Thedas. The musicians were going easy on them, giving them something familiar to dance to… but she also knew that this song picked up about halfway through.

They were the only ones dancing now, all the others choosing to stand and stare, and with Bull at the lead, they took full advantage of the open space, the pattern of their feet describing broad loops across the gleaming dance floor, leaving behind smears of mud from the gardens and streaks of blood from the assassins. At the outer curve of each turn, where Melora's feet simply could not keep up, Bull pressed his hand to her back and lifted her with him instead, fingers splayed over her ribs to support her with ease.

Masked faces watched with keen interest the obvious familiarity with which the two moved, no hesitation in their touch. The Inquisitor seemed so at ease having him close, kicking her feet off the floor and laughing with surprise and delight the first time he lifted her. There was no courtly press of palms here now, Bull hauling her closer to lift her from her feet. In size and height, the two were utterly mismatched, yet they moved together so easily, despite the whispers of those initially afraid he might trample her.

Maker help her, Melora was _giddy_ now, having to swallow back the laughter that bubbled up from within her. She felt as though she were _flying_ , her feet moving fast through the repeating pattern of steps. Bull's own feet moved with surprising grace, and he bent at the knees to reduce the difference in their height, making him seem as though he were gliding across the floor. He moved just as beautifully now as he did in battle, just as magnificent to behold as his body moved across polished marble as easily as it did through the dance of death.

Melora looked into Bull's face, and he was enjoying this too, chuckling at her laughter, her hand at his waist for the reach to his shoulder was too great. Bull smirked down at her, and released his hand from her back. Melora spun out to the reach of his arm, catching his fingertips and stretching high on her toes. Then, with a brisk pull, Bull drew her back in, and she spiraled back to his chest, catching herself there with the palm of her hand.

Melora looked up at him, flicking her tongue over her lips, and said a single word, just loud enough for him to hear. "Mayhem?"

The flash of his teeth in a delighted grin was all the answer she needed.

Bull dropped his head to the left and gave a quick upward toss of his horns. Melora's eyes widened, knowing that signal, having seen it many times in battle. _Up and over_. Andraste's ass, he had no interest in doing this halfway, did he?

At the end of the next turn, Bull released her from his grasp again and bent swiftly at the waist, holding her with one hand as her momentum swept her past his side. He gave her a pull to slow her, and then released her fingers as she sprang into the air. Melora rolled across the breadth of his back and landed neatly on the floor on the other side of him, taking him by the hand again before her feet even touched the floor. They didn't miss a beat as they moved again into the pattern of the steps.

There was a stunned silence, and then baffled applause. One voice shouted, _"I saw her smalls!"_ above the noise, and before the reaction could even die down, Bull spun her out to the length of his arm again. He planted his feet wide and pulled her back in, dropping his chin in two quick bobs, catching her eye as he did. Melora quickened her pace for a few steps just as Bull gave her a swift pull, and she let herself fall back, toes pointed, to slide neatly between his legs and past him across the polished floor. She released his hand as she sprang back to her feet and turned back to him. While Bull still leaned forward, Melora planted her hands against the small of his back and leapt up and over his head, leading with her toes and only narrowly clearing his horns. She'd barely touched the ground before she was up again, turning back to him with a smile blazing as brightly as her eyes.

Melora's pulse pounded in her ears in time to the beat, and clasping hands with Bull once more, they plunged back into the rhythm of the steps. Melora whirled with him, tossing her head, her blood-damp hair fanning into the air, splattering the floor with pinpricks of crimson… And splattering, too, the gowns of several nearby onlookers, including the pair clad in red and yellow who had called Bull her pet earlier in the evening. There was a chorus of horrified gasps, and Melora could not help but laugh as she whirled back into Bull's arms, feeling the quake of his own laughter through her palm pressed to his chest.

They could send her a bill for the gowns.

Nothing else mattered except moving together with Bull, her eyes on him and his eye on her. She read his movements the same way she did in battle. She did not need to think about his weight shifting or the change in angle of his shoulders to know what those things meant, and to respond before she was even aware of doing so. Experience moved her beyond conscious thought and into something like instinct. Bull's touch guided Melora, too, a firm press of fingers and palm on her body, leading her with him without need for even a single word.

Bull tipped his head back twice in quick succession, and at the end of the next pattern of steps, he turned his back to her and stooped low. Eyes gleaming, Melora took hold of one horn and planted her boot at the small of his back. His body was firm and solid beneath her, and she hoisted herself up onto his back, one knee on his shoulders, and then she moved her feet to his horns. As soon as she had her footing and stood upright, he was moving again, and she with him, making another loop around the dance floor with her balanced atop his horns. As he passed beneath one of the chandeliers, Melora stretched her left hand up to touch the dangling crystals. They caught the light of her mark, fracturing it into shards that spilled across the floor around them in a brief flash. There was another tumult of voices among astonished laughter and applause. Melora caught sight of her friends, a cluster of black and gold in the crowd, their faces wide-eyed as they stared. She gave them a cheery little wave.

Without ceasing his movement, Bull put out his hand level with his horns in front of her feet.

Now it was her eyes that went wide, knowing what he wanted to do. But she did not hesitate.

Melora stepped into his palm, and Bull clasped her round the ankles, first with one hand, and then the other on her calves, holding her as if she were a blade of flesh and blood clad in silk. Melora pressed her palms against her thighs, and she felt his grip tighten on her as the world seemed to drop away. The room blurred, eyes behind masks drawn to streaks in her view. The floor rose up, and over the sound of gasps and screams, she heard the snap of her hair whipping the marble, and her stomach twisted into her throat. Then she was rising again, Bull's strong hands tight around her legs. She blinked, and she was looking up at the ceiling again, candlelight glittering in the faceted crystal, before she was whirling down once more.

There was a brief extra squeeze of his grip around her calves when he pulled her back up: a warning, for at the apex of her second ascent, he let go.

Melora flew into the air, arcing high above the dance floor, and she tucked herself into a tight ball, spinning once, twice, and again. She stretched out as gravity took her once more, the floor rising quickly beneath her, and she landed in a roll, tumbling across the cold stone floor to the sound of the crowd's fear and amazement. She found her feet and sprang back up, spinning in place, her face ablaze with a wide grin.

There was a stunned silence, and then the room erupted into noise, a hundred voices speaking at once. The song even faltered, a screech of strings for a moment before the musicians found their stride again, just as Melora's hand found Bull's once more.

They dove back into the dance just as the song hit its stride, the pace increasing with the beat of their hearts, their feet moving fast over the shining marble. There were raised voices now, the applause and clammering din dissonant against the music.

But for Melora, there was only the Iron Bull, his pale green eye holding her captive as he spun with her in front of the whole blighted Orlesian court. She could hear the sound of his laughter, a deep rumble, low and rich beneath the music and the clamor of the crowd.

With the shrill shriek of strings driving them on, Bull and Melora were spinning together, hands clasped, ignoring the scandalized muttering and raised voices, the clamoring din of horrified pearl-clutching. Melora saw her grin mirrored there on Bull's scarred face, and a sheen of sweat gleamed on both of their faces too, causing kohl and blood to run.

The court had never seen anything like it, and they did not know what to make of it. Many were stunned into silence, others rabbling in dismay, plenty more cheering. Melora tried to pick out the faces of her friends in the crowd, but she was moving too fast, and she could only imagine Josephine's expression of bewildered alarm. The thought made Melora smile even wider.

She felt as though she weighed nothing at all, Bull's strong hands lifting her from the floor into the air. She had never felt so graceful, so light. Melora was a wounded bird taking flight, her wings the tatters of her gown, broken feathers still fluttering at her shoulders. And Bull was the air that bore her aloft.

No. She was no bird. She was a _dragon_ , and the Maker-blessed beat of her mighty wings would rival any corrupted arch-demon. Her mark flared brighter, the light so bright it was difficult to look at directly, and she kept her hand closed when she was not touching Bull, green light spilling from between her fingers. There were whispers of fear, now, too; they had seen magic, of course, but this was far different. The smell of ozone filled the air, the very atmosphere drawn taut and brittle, as if it were about to crack.

Melora could feel the threads of the Veil twining around her as she spun, encircling her body, slender filaments coiling around her, not a shroud but a gown. She felt it shifting around her, swirling around her body when she moved, and she pulled it along with her, wrapping herself in layer upon layer of possibilities. She felt the strands vibrating along with the music, thrumming in the air, an invisible web in which she was the spider, and they were all ensnared in her threads. The undercurrent of voices grew tense as Melora's mark flashed and crackled.

Melora knew the song was ending, those familiar notes plunging toward their inevitable conclusion, and she didn't want it to end. She could have been happy caught in this moment forever, twirling within the solid cage of Bull's arms, his touch never leaving her. His hand skimmed her waist, her hip, and slid along her shoulder blades as she moved.

Bull stepped back then, releasing her from his arms so she could spin on her own, a beacon of hope and fear and faith in black and gold, her mark shining with such brightness that those closest took a step back, pressing on those behind them, green light reflected in wide, fearful, fascinated eyes. Melora moved in time to the music without thinking, her body seizing control of her the same way it did in the heat of battle, her limbs moving without thought. She spun faster and faster, the room blurring around her.

But her awareness was honed to a single point: _him_.

Bull was a large, dark blur, flickering in and out of her view as she spiraled away, yet she could feel his presence even as she closed her eyes, a strange feeling of warmth and a _pull_ across her skin in his direction, an invisible force tugging on the strings she had woven around herself. His gravity had her caught in its attraction, and she turned on her tiptoes in a cosmic dance in Bull's orbit. He was the brightest star in her heavens.

The remains of her skirt bloomed around her, revealing the bottom edge of the armor beneath, revealing too her knee high boots with their beading caked in mud. There could be no doubt that she came to the ball prepared for battle. And it was also clear who had been the victor: the brightly burning Inquisitor, who came out of her spin and took an extra few stumbling steps. Her hair fell across her face and she laughed dizzily, a deliberately endearing touch that had the desired effect: a ripple of delighted laughter from those nearby.

She righted herself and turned back to Bull. His smile was so broad, he seemed to glow, sharp white teeth flashing bright, and Melora found herself dazzled, so overwhelmed that for a moment, she forgot the dance. She could see him now, as he truly was, a dragon in the shape of a man, the shadowy membranes of his wings outstretched, shimmering darkness framing his body. And with his every breath, smoke clouded the air before him. His blood reached out to her own, and she knew then she had entwined herself with him so throughly they could never be untangled.

In time with the music, Melora tapped her left heel on the marble twice as she moved toward him. The motion was too subtle to be noticed by the court, but she knew it would be obvious to Bull. His keen eye watched and analyzed every move, not just in battle but all the time. And he was watching her very closely now.

Bull tilted his head, his smile growing curious. That double tap was his signal for _stay where you are_ , usually accompanied by the clink of his ankle brace to punctuate command with sound.

Her meaning was clear, and he tipped his head a fraction to acknowledge her, staying in place as she closed the distance between them. Melora took his hands in hers and squeezed his fingers with a firm, solid grip, looking up into his eye: _keep your hands steady._ In the next beat, she drew back and planted the sole of her boot against his right knee, gripping his hands tight. Another beat and her other foot was on his left thigh, faster now, building momentum. Melora kicked off his shoulders, a bootprint of red-tinged mud on his chest just to the side of the Inquisition emblem pinned to his coat. She let go of his hands to twist in the air in a sick flip, heels over head before landing neatly at his feet, crouched before popping back up.

Melora flicked her gaze up to look at Bull, grinning.

Maker's breath, the look on his face was _spectacular_ , a mixture of surprise and awe, his lips parted in breathless wonder. Though Melora could hear the reaction of the crowd as a distant sea of noise, the amazement she saw in Bull's gaze was all she cared about.

As the last notes of the song played, Bull wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to him, and bent to dip her low enough that her hair brushed the floor. Melora laughed delightedly, letting herself relax fully in his grasp. But the threads of the Veil still tangled around her limbs, bound to her as surely as Bull's ropes, the latent energy still hot on her skin. And when she lifted her head to look into Bull's eye, she realized he could feel it, too, his expression one of unabashed awe, fascination, and… fear?

Yes, _fear_. It was faint but it was there, hidden behind the warm affection. Fear of her? _Good._ Let him fear her, just a little. She _was_ fearsome, just as he was.

Melora flashed him a fiendish grin and slid her right hand over the back of his neck, pulling herself up to him to kiss him, hard. And at the same time, she reached her left hand toward the ceiling. Melora let all the strings of the Veil loosen, tugging them upward, feeling them slide over her and raising every hair on her body. They all sprang off her left hand all at once, snapping back into place in the fabric of the Veil. There was a sound like the crack of a whip, and she flung the collected energy up into the air from her palm, bursting just before the ceiling in a brilliant flash of emerald light.

It was as if all the air had gone out of the room. There were screams, the sounds muffled and watery as Melora's ears popped. But the noise was distant, and all she could hear now was the sound of her heart pounding, the rhythm beating in time with the faint pulse she could feel in Bull's lips, and in the tip of his tongue against hers. The court, the rifts, even the great weight of the task she bore seemed to fade away. She could feel the soft fan of his warm breath on her skin, the possessive press of his fingers into her back, and the way his half of the dragon's tooth hung to rest on her chest beside her own half. Melora broke the kiss and leaned her forehead against his. She felt the tension in him slacken a measure, and after another few seconds, he straightened and pulled her to her feet.

Melora pressed her face to Bull's chest, catching her breath, drawing in the scent of him. Around them, the room had erupted into noise, a clamor of voices. But enclosed in his arms, she felt as though they were alone in the room, all those masked faces far away, irrelevant. Bull drew one thick finger over her jaw to her chin, looking down at her with awed disbelief.

They lingered there just a little too long, wrapped in each other's arms as the crowd buzzed around them. Bull glanced over, and then back down at her, just a quick flick of his gaze and a quirk of his eyebrow to note that they were, in fact, still in the middle of the ballroom at the Winter Palace and should probably acknowledge the many eyes still upon them.

Melora peeked over her shoulder at all of them, offering them a shy, sheepish smile, and then she peeled herself from Bull's embrace. That little smile and the tiny stumble during the dance… They needed to see her power, but they also needed them to see her as a person. She needed to endear herself a little to them, and being just a bit sweet, soft, and real couldn't hurt.

The room quaked with the clamor of hundreds of voices, applause, and shouts of dismay, a rumble that Melora could feel through the floor. She took a step away from Bull and lifted her arms, calling for quiet. And as the noise died down, Melora realized that she was commanding the Imperial court… not just their attention, but their actions. And they were obeying. The thought was dazzling, but she kept her chin high, lowering her arms to her sides and turning her gaze to every corner of the room, taking them all in, making sure they were all aware that she saw every last one of them.

She saw the Empress, too, at the far end of the ballroom, standing back with her personal guard, Gaspard and Briala nearby, and the Inquisitor inclined her head respectfully to the Empress, who returned the gesture.

"Your Radiance," the Inquisitor said, her voice sure and strong as she bowed low. "My gratitude for allowing my attendance at such a wonderful party. An experience I will not soon forget. And my apologies, if we have disrupted these festivities too greatly. After having closed a Fade rift which opened right here in this very palace, indeed on this very evening, well, I suppose the excitement must have gone to my head, and we got a bit carried away."

Melora smiled and raised a hand to her forehead, allowing her eyelids to flutter as if she were a bit bewildered by all of it, and as her hand passed in front of her face, the light of her mark glimmered upon her cheeks. The pause gave her meaning a moment to sink in...

The rifts were terrifying fractures in the very fabric of the Veil, through which murderous demons poured unchecked. The entire court of Orlais had just been down a few fancy hallways from a rift, drinking and dancing oblivious as death knocked at their door. And they had been saved… by the Inquisitor, this strange woman who seemed at once both fragile and unimaginably powerful, her presence seeming to reach out to the very air around her, like the heat shimmer around a bonfire. The touch of Andraste herself lingered on the Inquisitor's palm, clear for all to see. It may have been set to lively music, but their dance had been a show of power, of skill and confidence, their boldness intentionally setting them apart from the domain of frivolous nobility.

They were not Orlesian, and they would not be subject to the same rules of the Game. Yet in saving the lives of everyone in the palace, they had won the Game for this evening, and that fact stood out as bright and clear as the mark on the Inquisitor's hand. This was no play at power, no subtle machinations or manipulations. This was blood and sweat, life snatched from the jaws of death, laid out in unmistakeable streaks across the ballroom floor.

Melora looked around, into the eyes of the Orlesians gathered around her, and there, she saw fear and uncertainty. They had stopped being offended, and started being afraid. _Good_. Now the real work could begin.

 _"I know it's hard to see, from inside this ballroom,"_ said the Inquisitor, lifting her voice to address the entire Court, speaking to them in accented but fluent Orlesian, _"But we stand on the edge of a cliff, all of us. And the edge of that cliff is in danger of crumbling. Tonight, it came close to collapsing… closer than you can possibly know. The war the Inquisition fights is unlike any war we have ever seen. This is not a clash of armies fighting for a strip of land, for a crown, for a place in history. This is a fight simply to survive. Our enemy is not human, or elven, or dwarven, or qunari. And our enemy is not even demons, or an archdemon, or a corrupted magister. Our enemy is_ the end of everything _."_

The Inquisitor paused a moment, to let her words settle, and then she said, _"That is what we fight, and that is why we must triumph. Not just for our own sakes, but for the sake of everything we hold dear. If we are to have future of any kind, we must prevail. And to do that, the Inquisition needs your support. I need your support. Because if we fail, if our enemy is allowed to succeed, we will all die. There will be no more Orlais, no more Ferelden, no more Tevinter or Qun or Free Marches. It will all be dust. And so will we."_

 _"But we_ can _succeed. We_ can _triumph, and drive out the darkness that threatens to consume us all. We are stronger than our enemy. Because we fight not for power, but for our very lives, and nothing is stronger than the will to survive. But that cliff is still there, and it is so easy to step over the edge and plummet, if we forget it's there, if we decide that our petty differences are more worthy of attention than saving the world. So tonight, I call for an immediate end to the Grand Game. It is_ done _."_

She punctuated the statement by jabbing a finger into her palm, her mark leaving a trail of green light as she did.

_"Its last round has been played, and it nearly resulted in the death of the Empress by assassination, and came close to setting us all on an inevitable path leading to destruction. Let us end it here, now. Put down your greed and vanity, and look instead to your kindness and generosity, your desire to survive, to see your children grow up and to see your grandchildren born. Look not at others for what they can do for you, but think instead how you can help them. Stand no longer on the bodies of those you defeated to gain a tiny measure of higher ground. Instead, offer your hand, lift them up, stand and climb the hill together, because you are so much stronger united, fighting side by side, than you can ever be standing alone."_

Melora turned, looking around the ballroom, sweeping her gaze over all those gathered. _"We are better than this. We have to be. Failure is not an option. We will survive. And you will help me to ensure our safety."_

A murmur rippled through the crowd, looks exchanged and frowns behind masks. Seeing this, the Inquisitor nodded, considering their dissent, and lifted her hands in a gesture of calming.

_"I know you fear the power of the Inquisition, that you see us as grasping and gaining ground, as conquerers and dividers. And you see me as a dangerous apostate and radical… I understand. But I tell you this… When all of this is done, I swear to you now, by the light of the Maker, by the grace of Andraste, by everything I hold dear, I swear to you that I will lay down my sword when this is through, when this war is won and mages and the Chantry are at peace, whatever form that peace takes, I will be finished. And I will no longer be Inquisitor. The Inquisition will disband. There will be no need of it, and it will be ended. I seek no power, and I have no desire to rule. I did not choose this. I was chosen. I will defend Thedas, with my life if I must, until my task is done. And it will be done with the support of Orlais. You need me to close the rifts, just as much as I need your support."_

_"Tonight, go home, and think on this. Decide which side you are on… That of life, or of death. Choose life, my friends. I know you will. Tomorrow, do one thing to improve the lives of others. Be kind, speak truth, care for those less fortunate than yourselves. And the next day, do two things. And then three, and four… The Game is ended, and you will find far greater joy, entertainment, and purpose in making this world better than it was the day before. Make this world worth saving."_

_"And now,"_ she concluded, _"I must take my leave of you. I still have so much to do before this fight is won. And so do you. Remember these words. Put aside the Game. Work together, and we will triumph. Enjoy the rest of your evening, because tomorrow, your part in this fight begins."_

Behind her, Bull added, _"And, uh, sorry about the mess,"_ his tone making it clear he was anything but sorry, his Orlesian nearly accentless.

Melora could see several faces reddening behind masks, recalling remarks made in Orlesian within earshot of the Inquisitor and her companion, things they thought had gone unnoticed. Melora could not hold back her satisfied smile at this. Let them be embarassed. They had brought it upon themselves.

After giving a final low, respectful bow toward the Empress, Melora slipped her hand into Bull's once more and together, the two made their way off the dance floor, the entire court of Orlais staring after them. And despite the crowded room, there was almost no sound. The Imperial court had, perhaps for the first time, been rendered utterly speechless.


	27. Chapter 27

The coach rattled along the cobblestone roads leading back to the chateau, carrying inside it the Inquisitor, her Right Hand, her war council, and a heavy silence. Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen glanced sidelong at one another now and then, but none of them spoke. Bull hunched over his knees so that his horns wouldn't hit the ceiling when they went over a bump, and he avoided looking up at the war council across from him. Tucked into the corner of the seat she shared with Bull, Melora gazed out the small curtained window, her scuffed and bloodied face turned toward the starry sky. Shadows of trees and pools of moonlight danced across her cheeks, and Melora took a deep breath, the night air cool and damp, the spicy scent of stripweed on the breeze. If only the Veil weren't so thin here, if her skin could stop crawling at the sensation of it, Halamshiral would almost have a certain beauty.

It was Melora who spoke first, still calmly looking out the window. "So, are you all going to yell at me, or are we just going to sit here being awkward?"

Josephine opened her mouth and closed it again before she replied, "I… am still trying to figure out what just happened."

"I wasn't aware the Inquisitor even got a Right Hand," said Cullen.

"Was I unclear, somehow, when I explained about the subtleties of the Game? Perhaps I smiled too much, and you thought I was joking?" Josephine was still smiling even now, but her hands clenched at the fabric of her skirt.

"You were just supposed to save the Empress's life, but you went and meddled in Orlesian politics. Do you have any idea what the consequences of that might be?" Cullen demanded.

"Do _you?"_ Josephine asked Cullen, laughing in spite of herself.

"I think it was perfect," said Leliana.

All eyes in the coach turned to the spymaster, and Leliana glanced around at them with a twinkle in her eye and a ghost of a smile on her lips before she continued. "There will be no doubt now that she is truly the Herald of Andraste. They've gotten a taste of what that mark can do. She closed a fade rift in the Winter Palace itself, saving the lives of the entire court, and united Orlais, at least temporarily. And… that dance. The court has never seen anything like it before, and likely never will again. Those who were there will embellish the story until they were personally saved by the Inquisitor herself, who was twelve feet tall and breathed green flame. And those who weren't there tonight will lie and say they were."

"But to demand their support," protested Josephine, "To act as if one can end the Grand Game just by saying so!"

"On that, I do agree," Leliana said. "The Game is not over. Old grudges do not die so easily. But it may be set aside for a day or a week. Some good may come of it. And in the mean time, it will be extremely unpopular not to support the Inquisitor and the Inquisition. Anyone who may have been offended will, like as not, pretend to have been charmed, once they see others singing her praises. And I suspect we will see a new trend for loose hairstyles and artfully tattered gowns at next season's parties."

"You don't think people will say it's inappropriate?" Cullen's gaze flicked to Bull.

Bull gave Cullen a pleasant smile, his voice ominously cheerful. "'People,' huh? Which people? Anyone I know?"

Cullen scowled. "Even if they think you're just a mercenary, which you're not, it looks--"

"Keep talking like that and you can walk back to Skyhold." Melora's voice was quiet but stinging, and she still looked up at the stars through the coach window.

A silence followed, stretching out to uncomfortable before Josephine said, "Some may disapprove, but one could draw parallels with Shartan and Andraste."

"You mean that they were-- No, that was never proven, and is still highly controversial," Cullen protested.

Melora pulled her gaze away from the sky, slowly folding her hands in her lap, and fixed Cullen with a relentlessly pleasant smile. "I don't give a damn if they disapprove, or if you do. I didn't choose this mark, and you all made me the Inquisitor without so much as asking if I wanted the job. But as soon as I begin to wield the power forced upon me, you panic. Either take back the title, or accept that I'm going to use it."

"I don't care what you do behind closed doors--" Cullen started.

Melora cut him off. "Because you'll barge right through them."

Undaunted, Cullen continued, "But you've made it more than a private matter. The Inquisitor has appointed her personal bodyguard, a Tal-Vashoth mercenary, to a position that didn't even exist before, and then rubbed it in the face of all of Orlais. They're going to say you did it simply because you are lovers, a fact you made abundantly clear to the whole court. And if they find out he's really a spy for the Qun, and that you _knew he was?_ It's going to have _dire_ consequences. Real ones, that you can't just dance your way out of."

Melora snorted indignantly, rolling her eyes. "Worse than holes in the Veil opening everywhere? Worse than demons? Or an ancient magister trying to claw open the gates to the Black City, with the help of Templars corrupted by red lyrium? Worse than our base of operations being destroyed and having to wander the wilderness? I'm not afraid of some disapproving looks from a few Orlesians. Besides, Leliana _is_ Orlesian and well-versed in the intricacies of the court, and she seems to think we'll have gained more support than we'll lose, so…"

Cullen shook his head. "But what support _will_ we lose? We've gotten almost half our army's numbers from the support of the nobility in Orlais and Ferelden. They give us free passage through their lands, and we won't be able to feed that army without their coin."

"Josie?" Melora asked.

Josephine shrugged helplessly. "I truly do not know what the lasting effects of this will be, but I did get a chance to speak with Comtesse Du Maurier before we departed. She is highly influential, and has her finger on the pulse of the court. She seemed… delighted. I doubt we will see too many withdrawing support, and it may even increase." Josephine nodded to Melora. "And she _did_ get Gaspard, Celene, and Briala all standing together, seemingly united. That is perhaps a greater feat than closing the Breach, though I am certain this uneasy peace will not last. But… everyone of note lived, even the Grand Duchess. The only blood spilled was that of the assassins."

Melora brought a hand to her forehead, feeling the gash there, but she said nothing.

"The mission was a success," Leliana added, looking pointedly at Cullen.

The coach slowed to a stop in the drive of the chateau where they were staying. The horses grumbled and snorted, harnesses creaking.

"I suppose you're right. Still, I…" Cullen glanced up at Bull and then he shook his head, starting to get up from his seat. "I suppose it doesn't really matter now. What's done is done, and it's up to Josephine to deal with the angry letters."

Leliana and Josephine followed Cullen out, leaving Bull and Melora still sitting inside. The other coaches emptied, too, and Sera's raucous laughter carried back to them as the others made their way inside.

Bull looked down at his hands and said, "You were really gonna make Cullen walk his ass all the way back to Skyhold, weren't you? You weren't kidding."

Melora shrugged. "I've put that many miles on my boots ten times over at least in the past few months. And so have you. Might do him good to remember what that's like before he questions the Inquisitor next time."

Bull just stared at her. "Well, _Inquisitor_ ," he said slowly, "He's the commander of your army. A pretty good one, from what I've seen. And he did have a point."

Melora made a noncommittal noise and said only, "Come on. I need a bath," before she slipped out of the coach.

It was a moment before Bull followed. He had to turn sideways and suck in to extract himself from the coach's narrow doorway, the buttons of his coat scraping the door frame. The coach rocked as he stepped from it, and they walked together to the chateau.

The others were heading upstairs, silent glances cast back to the Inquisitor as they went. But Josephine had waited at the door, and she stepped forward as Melora and Bull entered.

"Perhaps I should send for a healer?" Josephine asked, twisting her hands together.

Melora blinked. "Are you planning on hurting someone?"

"What? No, I mean…" Josephine gestured toward Melora, a strand of hair falling across her face. "Shouldn't you see a healer? You have a cut on your head. Did you hit your head?"

Melora brought a hand to her forehead, touching gingerly at the cut there. "Only on a rosebush," Melora said. "It's fine. It bled terribly for a while but it's nothing serious."

"Are you certain? Because it looks--"

Melora gave Josephine what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "This is nothing. I get wounded all the time far worse than this."

"Still, perhaps someone should look at that."

"Someone will. Don't worry about it. It's just a scratch."

"Are you sure you are alright? You just seem…"

Melora tilted her head. "Seem… what?"

"I… I don't quite know. Is it… Perhaps we could find a few days for you to rest? Somewhere quiet, no rifts, no fighting…"

"You want me to take a holiday?"

"Everyone needs a break sometimes. You are under a great deal of pressure and in constant danger. It might do you good to just relax for a while."

Melora sighed ruefully and gave a bitter smile, shaking her head as she looked down at her feet, mud caked on the toes of her boots. "I'll relax when I'm done. Assuming I live that long."

A sad silence passed between them, and Josephine asked tentatively, "Did you mean what you said earlier? That you would disband the Inquisition when this is done?"

"Yes. When we've done what we set out to do, there will be no need for the Inquisition, or an Inquisitor. And then I will put my feet up for a good month and do absolutely nothing. But until then…" Melora glanced up the stairs toward the rooms. It had been a long night.

Josephine watched Melora for a long moment, and then said softly, "If you wish to talk, about anything… I am always here, you know. As a friend."

"I know," said Melora, smiling fondly at Josephine. "Thank you. For everything. And, um, I'm sorry, if I've caused you trouble with all of this. I don't mean to give you more to do, dealing with scandalized nobles complaining to you."

Josephine took a deep breath, folding her hands together, and smiled. "I have seen many tactics in the Game. But I have never seen anyone approach the field of play and decide to backflip off of it. It is either brilliant, or insane, and I cannot decide which. It may be some of both. And the nobles will complain to me either way. They always do. At least now, it will be about something interesting. And you will have to tell me in detail _exactly_ how you got Celene, Gaspard, and Briala all working together. I did not think it possible. But, that can wait. I am sure you wish to get cleaned up and rest."

Melora nodded vigorously. "I really, really do."

"I will leave you to it, then. We will speak more tomorrow, and on the way back to Skyhold. Good night." Josephine inclined her head in Melora's direction and gave her a smile before swishing off up the stairs.

Melora watched Josephine go, and then looked back to see Bull leaning against the wall on the far side of the entryway. 

He pushed off the wall and strolled over. "Y'know, if the Inquisition wants to put you up in a cabin for a few days to relax, you should let 'em. Nothing to do but knit socks and sleep…"

"And worry that I was putting us that many days behind, and that it would make all the difference in the outcome of all this. I wouldn't be able to relax enough to enjoy it."

"Heh, yeah, you're right. You wouldn't. Alright. Well, a servant came by while you were talking to Josephine. Gave me a medical kit and said they'd send up some snacks and stuff to our rooms. Oh, and if we wanted a bath, to go to the end of the hall on the right. Guess we can ask for water there?" Bull gestured to the side hall, the lamps lining its walls turned down low for the evening. "It's getting late so I don't want to trouble anyone. Just gotta find someone who can point us toward a couple empty buckets and the pump."

Melora followed him down the hall, which ended in a large wooden door, ornately carved with rolling waves. Bull pushed the door open and stepped through, always first through the door, and he filled the space almost entirely, so that Melora could not see past him. Immediately, he burst out laughing. "Oh, fuck yeah!" he chortled, turning back to grin at Melora.

She walked in after him, and they both looked around in amazement.

The room was nearly as large as the Inquisitor's tower room in Skyhold, decorated in polished marble tile all around, graceful geometric patterns gleaming in white, grey, and black. And in the center of the room, a huge pool of steaming water awaited them, at least as wide and long as Bull was tall. Candles burned all around, the scent of beeswax mixing with the sharp mineral scent that seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.

"Maker's breath," Melora hushed, looking around in wonder. "This is incredible."

"Must be built over a hot spring. Only way they could fill a pool this size with so much hot water, and how they had it all ready. Must just constantly refill so it keeps pouring in warm water. Yeah, look, there's the overflow there, and there's probably a big drain somewhere at the bottom to dump it all to clean it out. I wonder how long it takes to fill the whole thing…" Bull put the medical kit aside and started looking around for the controls, looking behind a basket of cushy towels sitting against the wall.

Melora watched him, laughing softly. "You know a lot about Orlesian building techniques?"

"You learn a few things about how buildings are put together after knocking enough of them down. There's springs like this all over the Dales, usually with some fancy asshole's house built on top of it, like this."

"I don't know if I can blame them for the choice of location. This is lovely," Melora said as she knelt and ran her fingertips through the water at the side of the marble-lined pool. The water felt almost slippery, and it was deliciously warm.

Bull turned to her and folded his arms over his chest, and his smile faded. "So, now that we're alone and you don't have to be the Inquisitor anymore tonight, you gonna tell me about the dragon's blood?"

Melora froze, and she didn't look up at him. "W-what?"

"Ah, come on. It's obvious something's up with you tonight. You're you, but you're not you." He started to pace as he spoke, brace clinking against the stone floor. Melora looked up to find Bull was watching her, and she knew he was studying her reaction. He continued, his tone strangely relaxed, gesturing idly with one hand. "At first I thought maybe you were drunk, but you didn't drink that much tonight. Wasn't elfroot either. That just makes you sort of quiet and giggly and weird. So for a while there I was really thinking demon possession. That was…. fun. But then I realized I'd been smelling something on you all night. Just this faint little whiff of something _good_. Couldn't place what it was for a while. Thought maybe you were just wearing some new perfume. New dress, new boots, new perfume, right? But then, I realized it smelled kinda... dragony. And then it all made sense. How confident you were, how you were when we had to fight our way through the palace… All of it, except one thing."

Melora straightened, fingertips dripping water onto the floor. "What's that?" Her voice was small.

Bull shifted where he stood, shaking his head. "Why wouldn't you tell me? Not like I wouldn't have understood. Or like I didn't notice you collecting it from the dragon after we brought it down. You had to know it'd change your fighting style, at least some. And the way we fight together, I need to know if you're gonna be doing something different from normal."

"You could see a difference in how I fought?"

Bull blinked. "Uh, _yeah._ You were faster, seeing more openings and taking advantage of them without me having to point 'em out."

"Better." It wasn't a question.

"Sort of. But also maybe more reckless. You were letting those rage demons get awfully close."

"Their fire couldn't hurt me. Just sort of… tickled," Melora said, giving him a devious little smile.

Bull drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yeaaah, that's the kind of thing that would have been handy to know. Could've left them to you, then. Look, I had to pull up short a _lot_ tonight because you weren't where I was expecting you to be. I caught on at some point and I was able to compensate eventually. And then, you know, it was actually pretty impressive, how much quicker we started taking those guys down with you just diving in and wrecking 'em. But it would have been real nice to have a heads up from the start."

"You're mad at me?"

Bull shook his head and sighed. "Not anymore. I _was_ , earlier, when I just about fell on my ass because I had to stop short when I thought there was a guy coming up on my left, but it was just you, in my blind spot. I stumbled and got distracted being pissed off for a second, so I didn't notice the guy we were fighting was actually coming back around to my right. That got me this." He gestured to the cut across the right side of his face from his cheekbone arcing up to below the point of his ear, where a notch had been taken from his earlobe. 

"Oh, shit," Melora whispered, looking up at him. She'd noticed when he'd gotten the cut, but she hadn't realized it was because of her. And if he'd been angry then, she hadn't seen that, either.

"I'm not blaming you. And don't you go blaming yourself. I know how you are. It wasn't your blade that got me. But if we're gonna do this, fight the way we do, it only works if we both know where the other's supposed to be. If you're doing something that affects you like that, I need to know, or one of us might end up hurt a lot worse than a few bruises and scratches."

"I'm sorry. I don't know why I didn't tell you. I just…" She sighed, rubbing at her forehead and then regretting it, the cut there stinging. "I felt so _good_. Not that soft feeling from drinking or elfroot, but _sharpened_. And I wasn't afraid, and I knew I was going to win. I'm not used to feeling like I know what I'm doing. But I _did_ tonight. Everything was so clear. And it went so well. And you've been so kind to me, and believed in me, and encouraged me. I suppose I just wanted you to…" 

She stopped then, closing her eyes. "I just wanted you to see me be _great_."

He didn't reply right away, and Melora glanced up to see him watching her, a contemplative look on his face. She tangled her hands together nervously, waiting for him to judge her.

"You _were_ great," Bull said finally, lifting her chin with the side of one finger. "And you'd have been great without it, too. Just in a different way. I can understand why you would take it. Everything riding on you, something that can give you an advantage, that'd be tempting. But I just hope you know what you're doing."

Melora nodded tentatively. "There was a book, in Skyhold. More of a journal, really, about dragon hunting, and it talked about taking the blood. I know it's bad to take too much. But the quantities they were talking about were… I figured just a drop would be fine." 

"Maybe. But you need to becareful _._ Dragon's blood isn't like strong drink or elfroot. Not really like anything else. It doesn't go away, not really. It'll fade, but that stuff changes you, permanently. And it builds up the more you take of it. It can give you strength and power, but it can also make you fucking crazy. And you're a mage _._ You go halfway mad on your own, a demon'll be happy to take you the rest of the way there. You really know what you're getting into? Do you really want to change yourself like that?"

Melora pressed her knuckles to her lips, considering his words, but then she frowned, shrugging helplessly. "This whole thing is changing me. In less than a year. I've gone from bored Circle mage to apostate, religious icon, and leader of my own faction. That's changed me. My body's changed, too. I've gotten stronger, and sunburned, and scarred… oh, and one hand lights up green. And… you've changed me. Dragon's blood may change me, but it'll be a version of me with a better chance to live through this, so I'm fine with that. And I'm _not_ going to get possessed. I face down demons every day. And every night, too, in my sleep. Or at least, I think I do. One can never tell demon from dream, and that's the danger. But I don't fear them." The candles in the room all flickered at once, as if a strong breeze had blown through the windowless, closed room. Melora paused, her lips twisted into a smile, but Bull looked around warily. Melora finished, her words quiet, "I kill them. They should fear me."

"Yeaaaah. Well, I kill demons on the regular too, and they _do_ scare me. And if I'm being honest, so does the idea of one of 'em getting into you."

"I'd have to let them in. I'd have to say _yes_ in some way to them. That's all it takes… and that's all it takes to _not_ get possessed."

"I know you're convinced your willpower is enough to keep a demon from getting in, but everyone has _something._ Something they'd give up everything for. Some point they could get pushed to where they'd throw themselves at the feet of a demon and _beg_ to be possessed if they thought it'd help."

Her eyes were curious, still bright with a swirl of sparks, as she asked, "Even you?"

"Yeah." His voice was thick, and he looked off toward the bath, brow creasing with a frown.

Melora reached out and placed her hand on the back of his, squeezing at him reassuringly. "I'm _not_ letting a demon get me. I swear it."

Bull sighed and pulled her into a hug against his side. "It's gonna sound stupid, but I kind of forget sometimes that you're a mage. I mean. I know you are. You use magic all the time. But I'd gotten used to it and stopped thinking of it as mage stuff. It's just… you."

Melora wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning her head against him, and she looked up at him with a smile from within the circle of his arms. "Nonsense. You like that I'm a mage. It scares you, but it excites you, too. I know what _bas-saarebas_ means when you growl it into my ear when we're in bed. I don't think you'd find me nearly as interesting if I weren't a mage."

"Sure would make things a lot simpler, though."

She cracked a smile, shaking her head, thinking of the many complexities of their situation. "Not that much simpler."

Bull did not return her smile, thoughts churning behind his clouded gaze. Finally, he said only, "The cut on your head's started bleeding again, and you've still got that gash by your hip. Let's get you cleaned up."

Without another word, he moved behind her, gathering her hair in his hand and draping it over her shoulder. Then he flicked open the many tiny buttons of her dress one by one, down the nape of her neck to the small of her back. His fingertips brushed over her skin, tracing the line of her spine, parting the fabric to skim over her shoulder blades. It was a distraction, a deliberate change of subject by turning to tactile pleasure. Melora knew what he was doing, but she didn't mind. She shivered at his light touch, and at the faint scratching of his rough, calloused hands on her. 

Bull lifted her dragon's tooth from her neck, gathering the chain in his palm and placing it aside. Then he slipped his hands beneath her dress, pushing it from her shoulders, guiding it off her arms. It came away stiffly, dried blood and dirt caked thick in the beadwork, plates of leather armor beneath badly damaged in places. Bull slipped the dress down over her hips, hooking his fingers in the top edge of her smalls and pulling them down with the dress to her ankles. She stepped out and pushed it away with her boot as Bull knelt at her feet to unlace her boots before pulling them and her socks from her feet. Melora stood naked before him, her skin streaked with smears of blood, damp hair cold on her shoulder. 

"You're gonna need stitching for the cut on your lower back and the one on your head," he said, his voice flat as a still pond. "The rest are minor."

Bull stood, knees crackling, and took her by the hand to sit on the bench. Melora sat down beside him and watched him as he opened the medical kit and threaded a fine, curved needle. He cleaned the wound at the right side of her lower back before carefully stitching it closed, his touch practiced and gentle. The needle pricked sharp in her skin, but she did not flinch from it. It was good practice. Some form of pain, ache, and injury seemed to be constant for her now; this was minor.

He worked without speaking, and the silence stretched out between them until Melora said, "I always wonder what you're thinking when you go quiet like this."

Bull didn't respond at first, but continued working until he'd finished the stitches on her back. He snipped the end of the thread off and moved around to sit in front of her to stitch the cut on her forehead. "I was thinking about swords," he said at last, his voice low and echoing in the stone room.

Melora looked up into his face curiously. "Swords?"

"Mmhmm. Swords." He cleaned the cut on her head gently, first wiping away the blood around it and then flushing the wound. It stung, but Melora sat still and quiet, listening. "When a Qunari warrior finishes their training, they go through this sort of… ritual battle, I guess you'd call it. And at the end, there's this ceremony where they forge the warrior a special sword, just for him. They do the smithing right there with this special forge, and then they quench the hot sword in a bath that contains some of the warrior's own blood, and a single drop of dragon's blood."

He picked up the needle and started to stitch the cut on her head, and he went slower now, guiding her face toward better light. "It's a big deal, that sword," Bull said as he worked, " _Asala_ is the word for that kind of sword. _Asala_ means soul. The warrior's soul, uh, literally moves into the sword, and is housed there forever. It's a weapon to be used in battle, but it's a lot more than _just_ a weapon. The warrior keeps the sword with him for the rest of his life, and if he falls in combat, his friends will leave his body for the crows, but they'll retrieve the sword."

"Didn't Varric ask you about this stuff a while back?"

"Yeah."

"You didn't really answer him, did you?"

"He just wants material for a book, and he's gonna twist it whatever way suits the story. Which… I get, but some things need to be correct, or not included at all."

"You don't think he wants to be accurate with his research?"

"I think he wants to tell an entertaining story that sells books. I don't blame him for that. But I'm not giving him any details of _anything_ unless I don't mind it getting twisted beyond all recognition because Varric thinks it sounds better his way."

"So… why swords?"

"Mm, well, Ben-Hassrath don't do the sword thing. We've got to be more flexible than that, so we use a variety of weapons. Swords, sometimes, but not _asala_ swords. But there's these memorials, I guess? Stone huts, sort of, all over the place, built by the friends of fallen warriors to house their swords. They build 'em in clusters that sort of look like the inside of a bee hive. Friends who fall in battle have their swords all together. And people go visit the swords, especially the ones of legendary warriors. There's no praying or anything like that, but it's a way of honouring the glorious dead and feeling connected to that kind of strength, remembering what we're built on, that kinda crap." He paused, drawing a stitch taut. "Uh, I'm getting a bit sidetracked. I just mean… the swords are kind of a big thing to qunari, and you know all about them, even if you're not a warrior."

Melora sat quietly and just waited to see where he was going with this. It seemed like the words came easier when he spoke to her lately. She didn't have to ask as many questions to urge him on.

"Anyway, uh… I dunno. I was just thinking about that. _Asala_ swords, forged in blood." Bull finished the last few stitches and snipped the thread before wiping off the needle and tucking it back in the kit. Then he sat quietly too, and Melora could almost feel him thinking, the weight of his thoughts as pressing as the humid air in the room.

"You asked to be my weapon," he said at last. "Like an _asala_ sword that forged itself in blood. My blood, your blood… and dragon's blood."

"Your blood-forged sword…" Melora traced her fingertips over Bull's forearm to his wrist and then over the back of his hand, the veins there violet beneath his skin. There was a crust of blood dried there, a smear from his middle finger to the bone of his wrist. Was it his, or hers, or had it been spilled by one of the assassins?

She did not ask what he meant for his soul. The question hung unsaid between them, ripe with implication. 

Tentative, Melora slipped her hand into his. Bull's fingers closed around hers, warm and leathery, and he leaned in to kiss her softly. "Forged," he said when he sat back, "But not yet fully sharpened."

She couldn't help but laugh. "We just saved the Empress and united Orlais. Isn't that sharp enough?"

Bull chuckled, shaking his head. "You've been fighting for less than a year. I still win when we're sparring nine times out of ten. You've got a _lot_ you still need to learn."

"You only win because you can do that thing, the observation thing you do."

"And you've got a knack for it too, or we wouldn't be able to fight the way we do. But when we're both winning as many as we're losing… Then you'll be sharp."

"I look forward to your lessons," she said, grinning. The last time they'd sparred together at Skyhold, she'd ended up shoved up against the wall in the muddy alcove behind the training dummies, her trousers around her ankles and Bull's teeth on her neck. Melora reached for the medical kit and said, "Your turn."

Bull shook his head. "Nah, I'm good."

"The cut on your face needs stitching." She forced herself to look at the wound, at Bull's blood dried there around it on his cheek. It wasn't very deep, but it had to have hurt. And if it had been much higher, he might've lost the other eye.

"It'll heal fine," Bull grumbled, looking way from her.

"Maybe. But it will heal better if I stitch it." In spite of her guilt, Melora had to smile. "Is it just that you want a bigger scar? I could do it really unevenly, if that's what you want."

Bull considered this a moment, and then his lips twisted into a smirk. He rolled a shrug. "Yeah, alright."

Melora sat on her knees, reaching up to clean the cut on his cheek before she started to stitch it. If the prick of the needle bothered him, he didn't let it show. She worked each stitch at an angle, his skin puckering at the edges, her work as intentionally uneven as his own stitches on her face had been tiny and precise. He wore his scars like others wore medals, and he'd earned another one tonight. Bull's ear, too, would heal scarred, a notch taken from the lower edge. How many times had he bled for her? How many times had they sat like this after a battle, patching each other up? He would always wear this scar, inflicted by an enemy he faced for her, this wound that he wouldn't have gotten if not for her, and the final mark sculpted by her pattern of threads in his flesh. The one on Melora's own forehead would always bear the mark of Bull's care, too. The world tried to carve them up, but they kept putting each other back together.

When she was done, Melora packed the medical kit away and set it aside, and then she unfolded her legs from beneath her on the bench. After a minute, she looked up at Bull and asked quietly, "Are we alright?"

"Huh? 'Course we are. You don't need to worry about that."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I am." He reached over and took her hand in his. "Look… I was worried. And pissed for a while. I'm not anymore, though. We're both still standing, you saved the Empress, united the fanciest of Orlesian pants…" 

Bull snorted a cheerless breath before he continued, "And you didn't freak out, almost kill me, and run off into the woods." He paused then, getting a thoughtful sort of smile on his face. "And you really did dance with me in front of the whole Orlesian court. Kissed me in front of all of 'em, too. And it wasn't a joke or anything."

Melora looked up at him, baffled. "Of course it wasn't. I mean, I was laughing, but because it was fun, not at you."

"I know," Bull said. "Just… you didn't have to do that."

"They denied you more cheese dip," Melora said, her voice gravely serious. "That is an injustice I will not let stand."

Bull chuckled and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to his side. "It _was_ some damn good cheese dip. Had these tiny little bits of… I don't know, something crunchy and wet, maybe celery?"

"I'll arm wrestle the whole Orlesian court for more cheese dip for you. Fight hordes of darkspawn, if I have to."

Bull gave her a skeptical look, pursing his lips. "I don't think I want any cheese dip made by darkspawn."

"No, I don't think the darkspawn make it themselves. They just--"

He leaned down and took her words from her with a sudden kiss, and she could feel his smile against her mouth. "Now," he murmured, sitting back to grin at her, "We should make use of this big damn bathtub already."

Melora laughed, looking him up and down. He was still fully dressed. "Are you planning on joining me, or…?"

"Hah, like I'd miss this. You get the boots, I'll get the rest."

Melora slipped off the bench to the floor, kneeling at Bull's feet. She watched as Bull removed his dragon's tooth and placed it next to hers on the bench before unbuttoning the remaining buttons on his coat. He threw the coat aside, and Melora removed his ankle brace and then his boots without looking, her eyes instead cast up the line of Bull's body, relishing the sight of him from this angle, looming even larger than usual. Melora tugged his socks down over his heels. They were the second pair she'd made for him, simple ribbing in heathered dark pink, and they were _really_ going to need a wash. She balled them together and tossed them aside, making a face.

Bull took a step back to undo his trousers, and he pushed them down toward his ankles. He never wore any smallclothes underneath, and whether that was a qunari thing or a Bull thing, Melora didn't know. She thought to ask him, but before she could speak, his trousers hit the floor. 

There was a clattering noise, and dozens of small, round objects scattered across the floor in all directions at his feet.

Melora blinked and picked one of them up.

"Nuts?" she asked, eyeing the little brown nut pinched between her fingers, coated in a shiny glaze and spices, just like the ones he'd been snacking on earlier in the ballroom. He must've filled his pockets with them.

Bull stepped out of his trousers and put his hands on his hips to strike a pose. "And dick." 

She was almost eye level with his junk, sitting where she was on the floor. Bull shook his hips, making everything flap about in an absurd jiggle.

Melora's chest tightened with affection as she raised both eyebrows and snorted a laugh, looking up at his damnable grin. Big, goofy, snack-hoarding, dick-waggling Bull.

"I meant the ones that fell out of your pockets," Melora said, getting to her feet, and she glanced down at his balls with a smirk. "But these are nice, too."

"I was saving those for later." 

"Which ones?" Melora slipped away from him with a playful glance back over her shoulder. Her bare feet slapped against the marble as she walked to the edge of the pool, and then she carefully made her way down the stone steps within.

Melora sank into the water up to her shoulders, blissful warmth enveloping her. The cut on her lower back protested, the sting as bad as the initial slash of the assassin's blade, but she used the pain to practice keeping her face still, curling her toes into the hard stone floor of the bath, focusing her awareness on the muscles in her face and forcing them to relax. The cut still stung, but she put it to the back of her mind.

She heard the splash of Bull following her into the bath, a rolling wave spreading from him as the water level suddenly rose. Bull sat back on one of the lower steps and let out a long, contented groan. "Oh, damn, this is _good."_

"Too bad we don't have anything like this at Skyhold. I could get used to this."

Bull tilted his head back, thinking. "Hmm. Well, there _is_ a spring at Skyhold. It's clear, fresh water, but it comes out damn near freezing. But… it does come out right at the Undercroft, and they've got those forges in there that they keep lit all the time. I'll bet someone clever could figure out a way to take that water and warm it using that heat coming off the forges." As he spoke, he undid his eyepatch and set it aside, then he reached for a basket beside the bath where he found a bar of soap, scented with rosemary and mint. He rubbed it over his hands, soaping his chest and arms, and stood up on the steps to give the rest of himself a wash, water running down his skin in rivulets.

"Really? You think they could?" Melora asked, watching him with a grin. The sight of him was a gift from the Maker.

"Sure, maybe," Bull said, sinking back down into the water, and he gave his face and horns a quick wash before sluicing water over his head to rinse. "I'll bet if you put Dagna and some of the builders together on it, you'd have the whole place with hot and cold running water inside a month."

"I suppose it's worth looking into. Especially if they can build us a nice _big_ bath." Melora watched Bull, smiling at the way he relaxed back against the steps. How long had it been since he'd been able to soak in a hot bath, or found any bathtub big enough to fit him? "Shall I wash your back?"

Bull grinned at her and nodded, handing her the soap and shifting so she could slip behind him. Melora ran the bar over her hands and then set the soap aside to smooth her palms across his back and shoulders, fingertips tracing the familiar ridges of scars there. His skin was warm and wet and deliciously firm, and Melora could not resist pressing herself close to him, slipping her arms around his body. She sank against him, lips pressed to the back of his neck, and gave a contented sigh. 

Bull's body shook with a chuckle. "Interesting method. Unusual, but I guess it's efficient, cleaning my back and your tits at the same time."

Melora laughed, squeezing him tighter, fingers clutching at his chest. "If you could hug yourself, you'd understand. You feel so good, mmm, let's just stay here forever, just like this."

Bull ran his palms over her arms to the backs of her hands, stroking her skin where she held him beneath the water. "Forever, huh?" There was something odd in the way he said it, a little too like a question. And the future was a subject they'd both steadfastly avoided.

Melora kissed him again, his skin warm and wet on her lips. "Well, we might get a little pruny after a while," she joked.

Bull turned, shifting to sit facing her. "If we're gonna be here a while, we should get you nice and clean, too."

Melora grinned. "You're usually trying to get me dirty."

He grabbed the soap from beside the bath and shifted to get more comfortable, moving her so he could sit with her back to him between his knees. "Didn't say I wasn't gonna do that, too." Bull pushed her hair to one side and smoothed his hands over her shoulders and her chest, tweaking her nipples for just a moment before skimming lower beneath the water over her belly and hips, rubbing away the dried dirt and blood and sweat, water around her clouding with it. He soaped up her back then, making her skin slick and pleasantly scented, before his strong fingers turned to working at the sore muscles in her shoulders, digging in his thumbs alongside her shoulder blades. Melora groaned with pleasure, the warm water and Bull's expert touch relaxing away the aches. "Maker's breath, you are so good at that."

"You seem to think I'm good at all sorts of things, _kadan_."

Melora dipped herself beneath the water a moment, tilting her head back to rinse her hair, crimson flowers blooming around her in the water. She sat up again and ran her hands over her head, smoothing back her wet hair. "What does that mean? _Kadan_. I mean, really, _really_ mean. You said before… Your heart. But you've told me how Qunlat works, and taught me some of it. Words seem to have many different meanings, and context matters. But _our_ context isn't something that qunari do."

Bull took a deep breath and gathered Melora's hair in his palms at the nape of her neck. "Context does matter. And you're right, it's…" He trailed off, struggling to find the right words. "It does mean, literally, heart, as in the organ. Can also mean, uh, middle of your chest, or the core or middle of something, like a cherry pit. It's also a kind of drum, or any sort of rhythmic sound. Some other crap, too. Like, in the desert there's also this sort of… I dunno, looks like a cross between a rat and a really small deer but with feet like a rabbit. It's called _kadan-sataasi_ , which means… thumping, jumping critter, I guess. But, yeah, it's also for, uh, a really close friend."

"You didn't call me that, um, before, when we were just friends. And Krem's your close friend, but you don't call him _kadan_. Or do you?"

"No, I don't." Bull worked the bar of soap between his hands before setting it aside, and then he ran his palms over her hair, cleaning away the dirt of the evening, replacing the stinking tang of blood with the scent of fresh green herbal soap.

"So, he's not the right kind of close friend, or…?"

"It's… look, you _bas_ have all kinds of words for family… mother, father, cousin, nephew, and all that. Qunari don't have blood families. We choose our own people, our close friends, and we just have the one word for them. I could call Krem _kadan,_ and it wouldn't be the wrong way to use that word."

"But you don't?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because… uh, how do I explain this? Ah, look. I'm Ben-Hassrath, right? And you know that means… spy. A lot of the stuff I was doing in Seheron was really just city guard type crap, but sometimes I'd have to… Uh, well, this one time, the order came down to find this one guy, this wine merchant who had started working with the 'Vint spies in Seheron, trying to smuggle in Tevinter wine. Couple other Ben-Hassrath staged a mugging and let me rescue the guy. And then I offered to buy him a drink to calm his nerves, and he insisted he buy _me_ a drink, and suddenly, he's got an instant new best friend who he'll let slip all kinds of information to. I played it a little dumb, good sympathetic ear, and got him to tell me all kinds of stuff. He was just some guy who had connections to something the Ben-Hassrath wanted information on. Not really a bad guy, just… associating with some bad guys. I got to know him while I was on that assignment. I liked him. Good guy to drink and dice with. He just wanted to make some more coin and got caught up with some key players."

Bull went quiet a moment before he said, "So, one day the order came down to end the surveillance and take out the target instead."

As he spoke, Bull guided Melora to lean back, one hand resting at the back of her head, the other pressing light against her chest. Melora sank back into the water until it lapped at her hairline, at the edge of the stitched cut there. Bull's words settled heavily around her, muffled beneath the water as he held her.

"What did you do?" Melora's voice cracked as she asked the question, wishing she didn't have to, but needing to know.

"I followed orders."

Melora felt a pang of fear, cold in her guts. All he had to do was lower his hand a little more, to press his palm down on her chest, and… 

The longer he held her floating there, her face just above the water, the more she churned with fear. But then Bull lifted his hand from her chest to smooth a few stray hairs back from her forehead, the gesture tender and gentle, droplets of water dripping from his fingers and falling down the sides of her face like warm tears. He was answering her questions, even if the answers weren't what she wanted to hear. And his touch was nothing but soothing. So why did her chest feel tight, breath pressing on her from the inside?

"I'd gotten used to the idea that I was never gonna really get close to anyone," Bull said, the words coming as if from far away, her ears beneath the surface of the water. "Being Ben-Hassrath, and then playing Tal-Vashoth merc, I got used to having acquaintances, people I was friendly with, and sometimes friends. But I hadn't called anyone _kadan_ since I was a kid _._ Uh, not really, anyway. Not and meant it."

"You've said it without meaning it?" Her voice sounded strange to her, as if it weren't her own.

Bull guided her to sit back up, and then he reached for the basket again, finding a bottle of scented oil. He removed the cork, gave the bottle a sniff, and then poured some oil into his palm. "There's times, well, you know… You might want someone to believe you trust them or care about them more than you do. Need them to let their guard down."

Melora closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, feeling Bull's blunted claws drawn pleasantly over her scalp. He had been training her in this, teaching her how to manipulate, and she'd embraced his lessons wholeheartedly, listening fascinated to him on the way to Halamshiral while finishing her lace gloves for the ball. She'd always known he was capable of this. It was nothing unexpected. And the bath was warm and blissful. So why did she feel so cold? 

"Never thought I'd mean it," Bull said, "Or that it'd, uh, apply in this sort of context. It's not the way other qunari would use it. But, then, most other qunari would never end up in… this kind of thing."

Melora tried to focus on the feeling of his hands working through her hair. The oil smelled of roses and almonds. "You must have had the opportunity before. To be with someone for more than sex, I mean."

Bull paused for a moment but then shook his head. "I dunno. Maybe, I guess. Certainly had people come back for another round." He pulled a wide-toothed comb from the basket and began to remove the snarls from her hair, starting at the ends, holding above where he worked to keep from pulling when he hit a tangle. "But it never… I mean, there was never really anyone who bothered getting to know me. They were expecting me to be some kind of symbol for them embracing their untamed nature or something. I was just an experience to be had. Weren't real concerned with the whole _me_ part of it."

"That's different, with me?"

He snorted. "Uh, _yeah_. You spent months just talking to me, listening to me ramble on about all kinds of crap. _Really_ listening, not just because you wanted to ride my dick."

He was right. They'd spent months together, walking side by side through Ferelden and Orlais, and when they weren't fighting for their lives, they'd been talking. There had been conversations with Cassandra and Varric, and Solas too. But it seemed Melora had always found herself at Bull's side, or he at hers. There were long, comfortable silences, but mostly, they'd talked, and the talking had soon turned to laughter, once Bull figured out he could make her laugh till she snorted with just the right sort of pun. He'd trained her, fought with her, made her his weapon. He'd walked and slept and ate at her side for days on end. He'd offered his arm to her over icy stones, carried her when she could not go on, found her in the snow and brought her back alive. Bull's hand had held hers when she first crossed the bridge to Skyhold. His hands now worked at her with the tenderest of care, his touch untangling her hair and thoughts both.

In that terrible future that seemed now so much like a dream, she had seen him sacrifice himself to give her a chance to save everyone else. That hadn't been a dream. It had happened… and then un-happened. But it was real. Twisted with red lyrium, he'd thrown himself once more at her enemies, and she had seen him die. She'd seen it a thousand times since in her mind, haunting her no matter if she was asleep or awake.

That was who Bull was: a man who would give everything he had and more for what he believed in. And somehow, he believed in _her_. Whatever else he had been as part of the Qun, she had seen with her own eyes who he had become.

Melora swiped at her eyes with wet hands, hot tears mixing with warm water on her cheeks. When she finally spoke, it was with a soft laugh. "Well, I wasn't listening to you talk _entirely_ for that reason."

Bull chuckled, drawing the comb over her scalp and to the ends, her hair laying smooth and damp against her back now. "When you kissed me that first time, right after you got your daggers, it was because you thought I was hot, sure… But it was mainly because we were having fun together. And it was a cute little peck on the cheek. You didn't just grab my dick and say something filthy. You let me come to you. Took me a while to figure out what to do."

"And you decided you'd shove me up against the wall right after they made me Inquisitor."

"Well, it worked, didn't it? Got you to stop worrying for that night. Rather than freaking out about being the Inquisitor, you were having a damn good time, getting nice and relaxed. When you finally did get to sleep in that fluffy new bed of yours, your head wasn't still buzzing. And when you got up the next day, I'll bet you were thinking more about being pleasantly sore, and what to do next, than you were panicking about your new responsibilities."

"You really do think through everything, don't you?"

"I try."

"I'm glad you're on my side, then. That mind of yours… our enemies should be frightened." Melora glanced back at him over her shoulder, red-gold embers burning low in her eyes.

Bull chuckled and set the comb aside. "I don't think I'm gonna be able to think 'em to death."

She watched the candlelight dance over the rippled surface of the water, shifting patterns made and unmade again and again. The water was inky black, edged in gold where the light glittered, and in her mind's eye, she saw the waves of the ocean drawing patterns in the sand at the shore, wind and water shaping mountains. Nothing was permanent, and everything changes. 

Bull was right. Melora was changing, being sharpened. His hands molded her, sculptor and clay changing one another alike. What would Melora be when all of this was done? _And what would the Iron Bull become?_

What is a sword without a hand to wield it?

 _Asala._ His soul. His blade.

 _Kadan_. His heart.

And his mind, rare and beautiful, already so sharp it was a wonder he didn't cut himself upon it. What fools they must be in the Qun, to waste a mind so precious, to send him so far away. But their loss was her gain… and the Inquisition's, too.

"Perhaps you could think them to death, in a way," she said, relaxing against him, feeling the comforting solidity of his body against hers. "If you were to join the war council."

"Wait… what?"

Melora closed her eyes, resting her head back against his shoulder. "You're my Right Hand now. Technically, I think that means you outrank the war council. Or it will if I say it does. And.... you may speak on my behalf. Your words are the Inquisitor's words. Your orders are my orders."

There was a short, stunned silence from behind her, and then, "... you're serious?"

"Yes. It shouldn't just be a title. I want you _in_ the Inquisition, a part of it. With your intellect, having you at the war table is overdue."

Bull's chest quaked against her with a soft laugh. "Oh, now I get it. You just want to be able to send me in your place to the long, boring meetings."

She opened her eyes and turned to look at him with a fiendish little smile. "I hadn't thought about that, but yes, I could do that, couldn't I?"

Bull groaned. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Too late! Now _you_ get to sit around for the endless discussions about how many new guard towers in the Hinterlands we can afford to construct."

"Hah, greeeaaat. Hey, wait, does that mean you'll be waiting for me back in your room instead of the other way around?"

Melora gave him a curious smile. "I suppose I could be. Why?"

"I could think of a lot of things to do with that. I could tell you what you're gonna do while I'm gone. And how I want to find you when I get back."

Melora turned in his embrace, looking up at his face, and she lifted her hands to stroke over his cheeks, avoiding the cut she'd stitched there. Water dripped from her fingers into his beard, and she smirked as she looked up into his eye. "So, is that a yes?"

Bull regarded her thoughtfully, his smile slow and wicked. "On one condition."

She traced his features with her gaze, savoring the way the candlelight fell across the angles of him, the jagged edges and sharp points of him. How familiar his face had become, at first unusual then just… him. And now, she saw him so often so close, the details of him hers to explore. Draping her arms round his neck, Melora relished the feeling of him pressed to her, skin on skin in the warm water. 

She knew she would grant him whatever he asked. If the world was hers to save, then it was _hers_ , and if he asked it of her, the world would be his as well. "Anything," Melora said, the word a solemn promise, said with a smile. 

"I want to have you on the war table, with you tied to it."

For a moment, she just sat there blinking... And then laughter bubbled up from within her, and Melora laid her forehead against Bull's chest, giggling and shaking her head.

"Is that a yes?" Bull purred.

Melora raised her head and smirked at him, eyes glittering. "As long as you bar the door first."

Bull cast a glance at the door behind him. "Door's not barred _now_ …" He turned back, one eyebrow raised fiendishly, his grin unmistakable. 

"I could--" she started, though it seemed so far, and so unpleasant compared to being here in the bath with Bull against her.

"It'll be fine," Bull said before he kissed her, his hands on her beneath the water.

Melora didn't give it another thought.


	28. Chapter 28

Floating pleasantly in the glimmering haze of exhausted afterglow, Melora lay with her head on Bull's shoulder, one leg thrown over his, their bodies tangled together, still slick with a sheen of sweat. His hand rested on her arm, holding her close, his cheek against her forehead. The sounds of their breathing were the only noises that broke the stillness of her peaceful tower room, and for this moment, they were contented.

After a while, Melora said softly, "Bull?"

"Mm?" He sounded sleepy, and she immediately regretted bothering him. He slept so lightly, she hated to wake him on purpose when she did it so frequently by accident, just rolling over in bed or getting up to pee.

"I'm sorry, go back to sleep. It can wait." She turned her head to kiss at his jaw, his beard bristly on her lips.

He pulled her closer, wrapping his other arm around her too. Melora made a soft noise, nuzzling closer to his neck, squeezing him tight. There was so much of him, and he was so warm, being close to him in bed like this was _wonderful._ He felt so damn _good._ "S'alright. I was just dozing. What is it, _kadan_?"

"There was a word you said earlier. Or, um, well, not so much said as snarled while biting me. What was it?"

He went still, his thumb tracing circles against her hip pausing in its revolutions. "Oh, uh, that. Didn't realize you'd heard that."

"It would have been an odd time to stop paying attention."

He let out a long breath, resting his chin on the top of her head. "I think it's another one that's hard to explain. It's, uh…"

"I'm beginning to see why one doesn't find a lot of Qunlat dictionaries around."

"Yeah. Can't so much give a definition as a cultural lesson."

"It can wait until morning."

Bull shook his head a little and said, "Nah, it's alright, I just, uh…" He lifted one hand from her to rub at his eye with the pad of his thumb. "Well, uh. There's this animal, see, called a _dathras_. It's kinda like a pig, I guess, but with longer legs and real big ears. They'll eat anything, but their meat tastes nasty and they're really only good for leather, and you can get more and better leather from cows, so _dathrasi_ , they're considered pests. They can be kind of aggressive, too, so they're not good for anything but target practice and ruining gardens. Calling someone _dathras_ is an insult, and there's a lot of fables with 'em, all about the folly of their gluttony, greed, and laziness."

"That's not the word you said earlier."

"I was getting to that. The thing about _dathrasi_ … They're also, uh, well, they mate in pairs, and they mate for life. So there's fables about that, too… greedy, stupid _dathrasi_ , putting their, uh, _karash_ , their mate, above others in their group, and all the problems it causes."

Melora listened quietly, laying her head on his chest so she could hear the sound of his heartbeat, the air in his lungs, the vibration of his chest as he spoke. She could also hear a faint gurgle of his stomach, and she turned her face to kiss at his skin. She didn't know why, but she greatly enjoyed hearing the sounds his body made, the vitality and life in him.

"Qunari use the same word, _karash_ , for uh, people who ignore the demands of the Qun and, well, pair off. Because it does happen, and it's not even that uncommon. It's just considered real immoral. It's… animal and selfish and greedy and just... wrong. Calling someone _karash_ is a big insult of a, uh, very particular sort. And to use it as a real accusation against someone is very, very serious. People get found out for having that kind of relationship, they both get sent to the re-educators, and they never see each other again. And if there's reason to believe their relationship caused harm to others in some way, or that they gave one another special treatment, or anything like that, they get _qamek_ and a lifetime of mindless labor."

"Is that what you said? _Karash_?"

"Uh. Yeah," Bull said reluctantly. "Well, sort of. I, uh... used the possessive form..." His words trailed off in a mumble.

Melora was quiet then, frowning, trying to understand.

Bull shook his head against the pillow. "It was dirty talk… I shouldn't have--"

"Since when are you shy about talking dirty?"

The amusement in her voice was obvious, but Bull responded with a gruff noise. "That wasn't so much dirty as fucking _filthy_. I was wrong to have said it."

"Is that how you think of me? Of… what we are?"

"It's not… I didn't mean it like..." He took a deep breath, as if fresh air might carry the right words to explain this. "Tal-Vashoth who have left the Qun, they use it too, for when they pair off or whatever. They know it's used as a slur, but they use it like it's not. They use it like… sweetheart, or beloved, or, uh… spouse. It's one of the things people hate about Tal-Vashoth. They take mates like animals do, have relationships like that, and they use _that_ word for it."

"I sometimes forget how strange this must be for you. This, with me, I mean. But, then, it's more than strange, isn't it? It's forbidden. Immoral. Wrong."

Bull growled. "It's _not_ wrong. Maybe under the Qun but--" His words faltered again, and he looked away, eye searching the darkness of the room as if the answers might be there. He seemed to be struggling to even explain it sufficiently to himself, let alone to her.

"You're starting to sound like a real Tal-Vashoth."

Another growl, longer, and Bull started to sit up, jostling her off of him. "I am _not_ Tal-Vashoth," he snarled. "I am _nothing_ like them."

"Hey," she said softly, looking up into his glowering face in the darkness, and she placed a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. "I didn't mean anything by it. Just that so much of what you do is forbidden under the Qun. You believe something different than they do. And you know it." She punctuated the statement by jabbing a fingertip against the center of his chest, over his heart… and then again, gentler, against his forehead, trailing down his cheek.

Bull was quiet then, his jaw set firm, and Melora sat up, leaning against him, looking into the shadows of his face. "This… us," she said, "If we lived under the Qun, we couldn't do this, could we? We'd be sent to the re-educators if someone found out. It would have to be completely secret, and we would live in fear every day of being discovered. Because the Qun considers it immoral, selfish, and wrong. Yet here we are. Here _you_ are."

"We're a long way from the Qun."

"We are," she said softly, "But you still carry it with you."

"Of course I do. The Qun is…" He sighed, shaking his head, horns knocking against the wooden bedframe. "It's not like it's just some type of government. It's philosophy, and morality, and purpose. And when all the parts work together, it's… beautiful. I know you don't understand--"

"Maybe not entirely, but from what you've told me, I can see why it's been so successful, why it works for so many people. And I know why you hold onto it."

Bull's voice was filled with skepticism. "Oh yeah? Why's that?"

"There is wisdom in it, I'm sure. But that's not why _you_ still believe in it." She tapped her fingertip against his chest, just below where his half of the dragon's tooth lay, rising and falling with each breath. "You do it out of fear. Ever since you were young, you've been taught that you were dangerous. That _all_ qunari are dangerous and need taming through the influence of the Qun. When the Tal-Vashoth have rebelled, their actions are called savage and held up as proof that without the Qun, there is no order or justice or safety."

Melora stroked her fingers along his beard, the dark, curled hair grown out and soft, and she shrugged a little against him. "Same old song," she said. "Different languages, but the same tune. They told me I was dangerous, too. That without the Circle, without Templars watching over me for any misstep, I would be a hazard to everyone around me. And they were just as wrong as those who tried to convince you that you're not strong enough to be yourself."

"I don't think that's really the same thing."

"No? You haven't lived your whole life being afraid of what you could do? They taught you that your strength was to be feared, that you couldn't control it yourself. But your strength isn't a weakness, and neither is my magic. How much good have you done because of what you can do? How many lives have you saved with it? How many times has it saved _your_ life? And mine. It's like any tool. You can use it for good, or you can use it to harm. I've seen how you use your gifts. You don't need the Qun guiding you. You have yourself." Melora leaned in then, a palm on each of his cheeks, looking into his eye. "And you, you brilliant, beautiful, kind, wonderful man… You. Are. Enough."

Bull closed his eye, leaning into her touch. He sighed, his brow creasing, and he asked her softly, "What if I'm not?"

"You _are_. You have a good heart. As long as you listen to it, let it guide you, what you fear will never come to pass."

Bull looked at her with a soft smile. "If you say so, _kadan_." He stressed the word and smirked a little.

Melora smirked too as she got his meaning. "I didn't mean… Well, you _should_ listen to me. I am the boss, after all."

Glancing around the room, Bull gave a cheerful shrug. "Sure, out there. But in here, you listen to me. And you do it so well." His voice took on a rough edge, and he quirked an eyebrow suggestively at her, barely visible in the moonlight filtering in through the windows.

"You are insatiable!" she laughed, leaning in to brush her lips across his. She knew what he was doing: deflecting, turning to the familiar and easy routine of sex, because feelings were hard. But she still hadn't recovered from the last round, and she suspected he hadn't either, with how quickly he'd started to drift off. And she'd heard the groan he made along with the crackle of his knees when he'd gotten up off the floor earlier, when they'd finished. "But… I have another idea." There were other ways than sex to give his body pleasure, and to turn his mind way from discomfort and pain.

Bull eyed her curiously as she slipped down toward the foot of the bed. She waved a hand at the candle beside the bed, and a flame burst to life there, bathing them both in a dancing golden glow. Bull squinted against the sudden brightness as Melora flipped up the bottom edge of the blanket, uncovering his legs to mid-thigh. She had to take a moment just to appreciate those legs, thick with muscle, firm and beautifully shaped beneath the touch of her hands.

Bull grasped the bottom edge of the blanket and pulled it up to his hips. Melora looked at him curiously.

"Hey," he said, giving her a smug grin, "You were already enjoying the view. Just thought I'd improve it."

She laughed softly and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of one thigh, and then the other, her hair falling over her shoulder to trail over his skin.

"Mm, I like where this is going," he said.

Melora cast her gaze up the line of his body, smirking as she slipped backward on the bed, peppering his legs with little kisses.

"I think you're going the wrong way there. The good stuff is all up here," Bull protested as Melora settled onto the bed between his feet.

"Every part of you is the good stuff," she replied, and she pushed her hair back from her face before asking softly, "You're hurting today, aren't you?"

"Is it that obvious?" Bull's mouth twitched into a frown.

"Only to me."

Bull huffed a breath. "It's just the usual. Ankle's being cranky which means I walk weird, which makes my knees and back sore. I'll live."

Melora bent down and kissed his left knee very gently. "You can tell me when you're hurting. I think I can help."

"You got your own crap to deal with. Don't need me bothering you with mine."

"Your crap is my crap. That's how this works. You don't have to just suck it up and suffer." As she spoke, she stroked her hands over him gently, adoringly. "Let me try to help."

Bull pushed himself up on his elbows, giving her a curious look. "You really think you can?"

"I think it's worth a try, if you'll let me."

"With magic?"

She nodded.

"Alright…" Bull said, but he sounded skeptical.

"Lay back and relax," Melora said reassuringly. "Close your eyes. Um. Eye. Sorry."

He snorted a wry laugh but did as he was told, settling back onto the bed, folding his hands atop his belly.

Melora rearranged her legs beneath her, sitting crosslegged between Bull's feet, and then she rubbed her palms together, gathering heat and feeling the Veil shudder and spark around her. She laid her hands over Bull's left ankle, pressing that heat into his flesh, feeling it spread beneath her touch.

"Whoa, that's… different," Bull said, lifting his head to look up at her.

"Good different or bad different?"

"Good. Real good." Bull let his head drop back and groaned pleasantly as she stroked her fingers up his calf, spreading the warmth higher, drawing out the aches, replacing pain with pleasure.

Melora cupped her hands over his knees, rubbing in a slow circle, taking her time, listening to the small sounds of enjoyment he made as she touched him. There was something deliciously obscene about those sounds, his fingers clutching at the blankets, head tilted back to expose the hard lines of his neck. It was all she could do to maintain her concentration on the subtle fire spell she held in careful balance, and she had to close her eyes to block out the beautiful distraction of him.

After a while, she opened her eyes again to find him watching her, wearing only a small smile.

"Does this help at all?"

Bull lifted his left leg from the bed, bending his knee and flexing his ankle. "Actually… yeah. Still a little sore, but… damn, that's a lot better than it's been in a while." Softly, almost hesitantly, he added, "Thank you. Nobody's ever… just… thanks."

"Anytime," she said, smiling. "I mean that. If you're hurting, _tell me._ If I can ease the pain, even a little, I want to try. You said your back was sore, too?"

"Eh, it's only a little twingey."

Melora laughed and rolled her eyes. "Shut up and turn over."

Grumbling but with a smile, Bull turned onto his front, folding his arms beneath his head, chin on his hands.

Melora crawled up and straddled Bull's hips just above his thighs, helpless to keep from grinning at the feel of his firm, ample ass beneath hers. She took a moment to refresh the warmth in her hands, and then began to knead at the sore muscles of his back.

Bull moaned beneath her, and with a smirk, Melora leaned down to say softly into his ear, "If you keep making noises like that, you're going to end up with a wet spot on your ass."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Bull replied with a grin and a little shrug.

She delivered a playful smack to the top of his ass and kept going, digging in her knuckles on either side of his spine, drawing out those wonderful sounds along with the soreness. She leaned into him with the weight of her body, letting the noises he made guide her to the sore spots.

"Mm, if I'd known you could do that, I'd have had you try it a long time ago," Bull said after a while, groaning delightedly as she kneaded at him. "Hey, uh, can you try something else?"

"Sure, anything."

"Can you try standing on my back? I've got a kink in it that I don't think you're gonna be able to press hard enough to get rid of."

“Um. I guess I can give it a try, sure.” Melora slipped off of him, running her palm along the curve of his ass, tracing the fan of faint silvery lines along the side, and then pushed herself up to stand, slightly unsteady on the soft mattress. “Where do you want me?”

“Up against the wall and bent over your desk, but first, you can stand on the middle of my back,” Bull rumbled, a grin in his voice, and he settled his head back down, cheek resting on his forearm. “Put your feet on either side of my spine."

Melora smirked and did as she was told, stepping up onto his back with one foot, then the other. Bull gave a soft grunt as Melora balanced atop him. It felt strange to have his skin beneath her feet, flesh warm and firm.

"Move down just a little bit… Yeah, right there. Perfect, don’t move,” Bull said as she repositioned her feet. When she’d found just the right spot, he let out a long breath, and she could feel his body relax beneath her.

After a few more breaths, he said, “Hmm. Can you jump?”

“You want me to _jump_ on you?”

“Yeah. You’re not heavy enough otherwise. Just a little hop, straight up and back down in the same spot. Should be easy for you. Wait till I start to exhale.”

“Alright…” she replied doubtfully, but Melora held her arms out to her sides, waiting for the moment she felt the rise of his chest slow and then reverse. She tensed and sprang into the air, watching her feet and landed in exactly the same spot on his back.

Bull gave a pleasant groan, inhaled, and said, “Again. Harder.”

Again, she waited for the right moment, and leapt higher. Bull made a little _oof_ noise and growled, “ _Harder._ Stop going easy on me.”

“Pretty sure that’s my line,” Melora replied, and she felt him shake under her with a low chuckle. Then she crouched low, so that her heels pressed against her ass, fingertips on Bull’s shoulders. She waited, and leapt high into the air, legs stretching out beneath her. When she came down, Melora landed in that same place, and she heard something in his back make a popping crackle as, under the both of them, the bed gave an indignant creak.

“Ohhh, yeah! Move up a little bit and do that again,” Bull groaned.

Melora moved up on his back, wiggling her toes against his skin, and crouched again. She drew her fingernails over his shoulders as she steadied herself and waited for him to relax. When he started to exhale, she jumped and came down just where she meant to, with only the slightest wobble of her left foot when he landed.

Bull’s back popped again… and then there was a sudden twanging snap, not from Bull, but the bed itself.

And then, they were both falling as the ropes supporting the mattress gave way. It fell with a _whumph_ onto the floor. Melora lost her balance and flailed as she fell onto the mattress as it hit the floor. The back of her head knocked the bedframe, and she saw stars.

There were several moments of silence, the both of them sitting stunned on the remains of the bed. Melora pushed herself up on her elbows and put her hand to the back of her head. No blood.

“You alright?” she said, getting to her knees, blinking away the sparkles in her vision.

Bull’s response at first was nothing but laughter, and he sat up and looked over at her, snickering. “Ah, heh, yeah, I’m fine. You hit your head there?”

“I’ve gotten worse sparring.”

Bull was still chuckling, and Melora couldn’t help but join him, his laughter infectious.

“Well, crap,” Bull said through a grin. The mattress had burst in one spot, spilling straw across the floor, and the ropes hung from the frame in a frayed mess. “This is gonna be fun to explain.”

 

~*~

 

"Wait, wait, no, you have to do it with the voice," Melora insisted, settling her teacup back on its saucer with a clatter.

Josephine laughed behind her hand and shook her head. "No, not again."

"Pleeeeease?" Melora begged.

Josephine huffed a good-natured sigh and picked up the little doll sitting in her lap, holding it in front of her face. The doll had a cape made of dark, fluffy wool, and curly golden mohair locks for hair. "Now see here," Josie grumbled, deepening her voice and attempting to mimic a Fereldan accent, wiggling the doll jerkily, as if it were stomping around. "I am telling you, someone keeps moving my desk! It's closer to the door than yesterday! Inquisitor! You're giggling! Do you know who is responsible for this?!"

Melora cackled, leaning back into her chair. "Oh, I wish I did. I'd give them a medal."

Josephine lowered the doll back to her lap and gave Melora a coy look. "It was me," she said, back to her Antivan accent.

"Seriously?"

"And Sera." Josephine picked up her own cup of tea and sipped at it, glancing at Melora over the rim. "Just a bit of fun. He's just _so_ serious."

"Why, Lady Montilyet, I didn't know you had it in you!" Melora grinned, looking at Josephine with a mixture of awe and pride.

"After he and Bull went to the tavern to continue their… discussion--" Josephine began to explain.

"Their argument, you mean," Melora corrected. It had begun because of a comment Leliana had made while the war council was discussing improvements to Skyhold, wondering just how one _would_ be able to attack successfully with their current defenses. Cullen insisted that cutting off the Inquisition's supplies and starving them out was the only real way. Bull had countered that an aerial assault (using the enemy's archdemon, or any willing dragons) would be just as effective, but much faster. Cullen dismissed Bull's suggestions as pure fantasy, and Bull had laughed as he called Cullen's siege tactics unimaginative. Cullen had shot back that it didn't have to be interesting to work. It was around that time that Leliana, Josephine, and Melora slipped quietly out of the war room, glancing knowingly at one another and trying not to smirk until they got out into the hall.

"I would call it more of a heated discussion," Josephine said.

"They were yelling."

"They were passionate. In any case, I hear that once they had several rounds, the conversation became much more good natured."

"Bull said as much. You know, I would not have guessed Cullen would be a happy drunk. He was _singing!_ "

"Really? Well, I suppose one never knows. But he was in the tavern most of the evening, so I had plenty of time to find Sera and come up with a plan."

"I'm surprised Sera went for something so subtle. No underpants drawer full of beetles or anything."

"I had to talk her down from filling his office with cats. She only agreed because she didn't know where to find that many cats."

Melora snorted a laugh as she said, "I'd love to have seen that."

Josephine smiled, taking one of the little jam and cheese sandwiches from the table before them. "I most definitely have not casually inquired if the scouts could bring back any stray cats they find." She nibbled casually at the sandwich, smirking.

"I know there's at least three in the stables, and I think that pretty little calico has gotten fluffier lately. You know the one I mean, with the short tail? I'll bet she'll be having kittens soon."

"The stables, you say?" Josephine said, trying too hard to sound casual.

"Yes," replied Melora with a grin. "The stables. Where we keep some of the horses, most of the cats, and all of our burly Wardens."

Josephine popped the rest of her sandwich into her mouth, trying to look nonchalant even as her eyes darted away.

Melora laughed and reached for her cup of tea. "Soooo, speaking of, have you talked to Warden Blackwall lately?"

"Mmmfph, mmrrph," replied Josephine, chewing very slowly and deliberately as she pointed to her mouth and shrugged helplessly.

"That's a yes, then." Melora flicked her hair back from her shoulder and leaned toward Josephine. "I know he was the one who brought you flowers last week."

Josephine glanced toward her desk, still chewing very slowly.

Melora looked back at the desk and grinned. A bouquet of colourful wildflowers bloomed in a vase on the corner of Josephine's desk. They looked quite fresh.

"Again?" Melora asked, delighted.

Josephine swallowed and nodded sheepishly.

"Oh, he's got it _bad_ for you. And by how hard you're blushing right now, I have a feeling it's mutual."

"I am not blushing!" Josephine insisted as she blushed.

"So, what are you waiting for? Go down to the stables and…" Melora smirked, waggling her eyebrows. "Saddle up."

"Oh, merciful Maker, no! I couldn't!"

"Why not? Just march down there and… Wait, wait, where's the dolls of you and him? I've got to do this right." Melora set her tea back down again and reached under the table to get into the trunk where Josie kept her dolls.

Smiling over the edge of her own teacup, Josephine said, "Oh, you know, I heard something interesting earlier, from the quartermaster."

Melora sat back up, a doll made almost entirely of ruffles in her left hand, and one made almost entirely of beard in her right. "Oh?" she asked, trying just a little too hard to sound surprised.

Josephine gave a small nod. "He found it curious how the Inquisitor's bed, which she has only had but a few months, needs repair so soon."

Melora lowered the dolls to her lap, pressing her lips together in a smirk. "That _is_ curious." She picked up one of the sandwiches from the tray and turned it over in her fingers. "What are these, anyway?"

"They call them 'sandwiches.' Lovely little things, aren't they? You can put whatever you like between two bits of bread without getting your fingers dirty. A favourite of the Arl of Sandwich, which is in the far south of Ferelden, I'm told. But as for… _that_ …" Josephine's gaze flicked to the dolls Melora had in her lap, and she sipped at her tea before she continued, "I am not sure that _you_ are the best source of advice here. Going down there to… saddle up, as you say, lacks a certain subtlety. And, to be honest, I prefer my bed remain in one piece."

Melora tipped her head back and laughed. "I swear, it wasn't like that! We were just--"

"I don't want to know!" Josephine protested, laughing too, but then she put down her teacup and leaned in, lowering her voice. "Well. Perhaps I want to know a _little bit_ …"


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Contains feels! Please read responsibly. Please do not consume directly before work, class, or social functions. For feels lasting more than 4 hours, please consult your author.

Early morning light spilled over the mountain peaks, gilding the blue-white drifts of snow with a warm glow. Bull's boots crunched with every step, a strange squeaking crackle beneath each footfall as his long strides compressed the snow under his feet. The air was still and cold, clouded with the heat of his breath, steam rising from his skin. The fresh snowfall from the night before caught the light and turned it to thousands of glittering jewels spilled across the perfect, smooth surface covering the landscape.

Last night, he'd sat on the balcony and watched the snow fall, naked but for the blanket wrapped around him and his _kadan._ The magic of Skyhold had kept the snow at bay, flakes swirling in a shifting curtain obscuring the mountain peaks, yet from where the two of them sat, they could look up and see the two moons hanging in the star-filled circle of sky overhead. Bull had watched the snow, but mostly, he'd watched _her_ , gazing down at her as she looked out in unabashed wonder at the strange, otherworldly beauty surrounding them. She'd leaned against his side, tucked up under his arm, one small hand resting on his belly, and after a while, he'd heard her breathing go slow as she drifted off in his embrace. His ass had fallen asleep too, but Bull stayed there for a while longer on the balcony, holding her close, listening to her snore softly.

He'd watched her a while this morning, too, when he'd slipped out of bed and dressed in silence. Her hair spilled across her bare back, and Bull had wanted so badly to skim his hand across that expanse of skin, to brush her hair aside and hear the soft, happy noise she'd make in response to his touch. But he'd finished pulling on his boots, and closed the door slowly behind him, so it wouldn't wake her.

Bull glanced back over his shoulder, Skyhold still within view behind him. At least he didn't have to go far, and since the Inquisition had taken the area, these roads were well-maintained and easy to find, even covered in fresh snow.

The road split, and here he stopped, scanning around him. After a few moments of looking, his eye found what he was searching for: one of the rocks marking the boundary of the road had a smaller rock sitting on top of it, both frosted with snow. He walked over and picked up the smaller rock, tossing it off into the trees before pushing the larger one up with his foot to flip it over.

A glass bottle had been sunk into the dirt on its side. Bull picked it up and let the rock fall back into place, and then he brushed the dirt from the bottle as he turned and headed back the way he came.

Bull uncorked the bottle and pulled the rolled paper from within.

His eye scanned the words on the page, and the bottle dropped from his hand, falling unbroken into the snow. He read it again, and a third time, and a fourth as he made his way back. By the time he crossed the bridge back to Skyhold, he'd read the words there a hundred times or more, memorized them, analyzed them from every angle.

And even as he passed through the gates into the warmth of Skyhold's walls, he could not shake the chill that gripped him bone-deep.

  
~*~

  
When Bull got back in, he stayed quiet, slipping his boots off at the door, and walked up the last set of steps in his socks… another pair she'd made for him. His stomach churned and he tried to tell himself it was just hunger.

She was still asleep, still stretched out on her belly, legs tangled in the blankets, the room slowly turning to brightness around her, motes of dust sparkling in the morning light around her face.

Bull watched her from the foot of the bed, the paper folded and tucked into his pocket, its edges too sharp even through the fabric. He should've ripped it to shreds, thrown the bits off the bridge, watched them scatter to the winds like snowflakes. But he hadn't.

He wanted nothing more than to climb back into that bed with her, to feel the warmth of her body as she curled against him, to be the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes, and to be rewarded with her sweet, sleepy smile and contented sigh. He could do that right now… slide out of his clothes, leave that fucking paper in a heap on the floor with his pants, forget he'd ever seen it. He could wake her pleasantly, lips on her shoulders, see where it'd lead. Or he could just lay there beside her, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest, the way the little hairs on her skin caught the light and gleamed.

Instead, Bull went to the desk in the corner, eased into the chair to keep the wood from creaking beneath him, and pulled the paper back out of his pocket, unfolding it and smoothing it out on the desktop. He didn't want to read it again.

He read it again.

The words hadn't changed.

The blankets rustled, and Bull looked up, slipping the paper off the desk and shoving it back into his pocket.

Melora sat up, pushing her hair back over her shoulder, and yawned. And when she saw him, she smiled, slow and sleepy. "Hey. Why're you all the way over there?"

"Been up a while. I didn't want to wake you."

"Mm, come back to bed."

"Can't. I've got some stuff to do this morning. You can lounge around a while if you like. I'll fill you in once you're awake. Come find me when you're ready."

Melora pushed herself out of bed, hair falling loose and messy down her back, forming a gleaming halo lit from behind as she padded naked across the floor to him. His chest hitched, clenched by an ache he did not dare name. The cool air of the room drew her nipples into peaks and pricked her skin, and Bull watched helpless as she came around the side of the desk to him. She slipped her arms around his shoulders, hands warm on his chest, and she dipped her head beneath his horns to skim a kiss along his cheek. "I'm already awake," she murmured, her tits pressing soft against his back, and there was a grin in her voice as she added, "Maybe you could… _fill me in_ now."

Bull chuckled, rubbing her arms with his palm. The paper in his pocket felt strangely heavy, the faint crinkle of it so loud when he shifted his weight. "Oh, that I could. Alright, _kadan_." His voice caught when he breathed the word, and he covered it by clearing his throat, sitting up a little straighter. "Push everything off the desk, and then get on top of it on your hands and knees."

There was a moment's hesitation, a pause in the movement of her palms over his skin. "All of it? Even the breakable things?"

Bull glanced at the desk, at the array of her things spread out over the surface: Varric's book, a stack of reports she'd been avoiding going through, a finished hat that just needed the ends woven in, her miniature rose. All these little things, representing moments or days, scenes and memories, precious and irrelevant. "Yes," was all he said in reply. _Especially the breakable things._

Another pause, and she stepped away from him to sweep most of the things off the desk with her arm. The few remaining items, she pushed off too, a clatter of papers, books, and crockery falling to the floor. The cup she used for her tea, a delicate little Orlesian confection with an ornate gilt handle and painted flowers, shattered into hundreds of pieces, the shards mixing with the pooled remains of her inkwell and scattered dirt from her little rosebush.

Bull closed his eye to the wreckage, removing his belt as she mounted the desk.

  
~*~

  
Bull stepped back, boots slipping in the muddy ground of the training yard, sweat dripping down the back of his neck. "Ah, come on, Krem! I'm working my ass off trying to get you to see that move!" He lowered his head and glared at Krem over the top of the shield. "Again!"

"You've still got plenty of ass left, Chief!" Krem shot back, teeth gleaming with a cocky grin. The kid was good, _real_ good, but relied too much on pure strength. Could swing a maul so hard it'd make your teeth rattle when it hit the ground, but Krem relied too much on that brute force. Sure, being strong was useful, but Bull had been on a hundred battlefields littered with the bloody remains of strong idiots who'd been cut down by someone not half as strong but twice as smart.

There was a soft giggle from off to the side of the training yard, and both of them turned to see Melora standing there watching them with her arms crossed and her head cocked to the side. She was smiling, that faint, bemused smile that she always seemed to have when watching the two of them together. Her hair fell loose to her waist, brushed into smooth waves, and she'd put on that long, dark pink tunic he liked on her. It went nicely with the subtle flush to her cheeks, the glow of the recently well-fucked.

He'd painted himself a lot of pictures of her in the gallery of his mind, moments that seared themselves there, side by side, all of them adding up to _her_. _Kadan._ Nervous little mouse on the beach with wool in one hand and the world in the other. Her eyes glowing with excitement in the firelight at camp. A tiny figure with a dagger in each hand, running out the door into a burning village alone. Her dark braid crusted with snow, the rest of her buried beneath a blanket of white. Her hands holding a sword aloft. Her skin laid with twists of rope. Her hands cradling the dragon's tooth. The curve of her neck, her head thrown back laughing as she danced with him, set aflame.

And the afternoon sunlight bright on her cheeks and gleaming in her hair, smiling at him the way she was right now.

"Uh, your worship," Krem said, lowering his shield and clearing his throat.

"Would you quit it with that, Krem?" she laughed, pushing her hair back from her shoulder with a flick of one hand. "Melora. Three syllables, not hard to say."

"Sorry, your… Melora...ness." Still with that cocky smile, Krem hauled his shield up to his shoulder, clanking against his armor.

"Hey, Bull." There was a softness and warmth in the way she said his name that he felt like a punch in the gut.

"Hey, boss."

Krem snorted and made a gagging noise.

Bull gave Krem a _look_ and then turned back to Melora. "I, uh, told you I'd fill you in earlier." Bull gave her the slightest little grin and a flick of his eyebrow. The way she eyed him and smirked told him she'd caught it. Of course she did. She was getting sharper, mind and claw. "I got a letter from one of my Ben-Hassrath contacts. Already cleared it with Red."

Melora's eyes flicked to Krem, nervous. "You… do know about this stuff already, don't you?"

Krem snickered. "You mean that the Chief's a spy? Uh, _yeah_ , known that for ages. He already briefed me on this whole new thing, too, before dragging me out here to bash at me with a shield."

Bull rolled a shrug. "I don't hide the spy thing from the Chargers. They deserve to know who they're working for." He eyed Krem and added, "And I didn't drag you out here. You walked. Now put up your shield. I need to hit something."

Krem lifted his shield up over his head. "This good?"

Bull snorted and rolled his eye. "Damn smartass Vint," he grumbled.

"What's the letter about?" Melora asked.

Bull brought his shield up as Krem lowered his and feinted. Krem stumbled to one side to block the blow that didn't come. Bull hooked the edge of his shield around Krem's and shoved, knocking Krem off his footing. Sighing, Bull stepped back, shaking his head. "The letter says that the Ben-Hassrath don't like what they've been hearing in my reports. Not fond of Corypheus or the Venatori, and they _really_ don't like red lyrium. But they know about the Inquisition's progress, and they've seen an opportunity. They say they want to work with you, boss, and join forces with the Inquisition."

"They… what?"

"They've found a massive red lyrium shipping operation out on the coast, and they want to stop the supply of red lyrium. That shit gets to Tevinter, no telling what'll happen. The Vints could make their slaves into an army of magical freaks. The Qun could lose Seheron, and we could see a giant Tevinter army come marching back down here."

"So they can give us the information, and we'll hit it with the Inqusition's forces. We've been heavy on the coast for months now. Don't Leliana's people already have eyes on this?" Melora asked.

"Apparently not. These guys've been smart, using an old cave system to move the stuff onto small boats that transport it to a ship anchored nearby. They've kept their land presence so small, Red's contacts have had nothing to notice from the shore. They don't come in to resupply, they don't talk to the locals. They're ghosts. But they keep real meticulous records, and apparently one of their playbooks fell into the wrong hands. Or the right ones."

"That still doesn't explain why we can't just take care of it ourselves."

Bull gave a wry smirk. "How many ships does the Inquisition have again? You've got plenty of boots, and no boats. But if there's one thing the Qunari have, it's ships."

"They want us to hit it together, us on land and them on the water," Krem said as he raised his shield again, ready for another go. "Talked about bringing in one of their dreadnoughts. I've heard of those big warships, but never seen one in action. Should be quite a sight."

Again, Bull lunged, and Krem went for it. Before Krem had even regained his footing, Bull growled and threw down his shield. "Did you see _that?_ Go get some water."

Krem rolled his eyes and propped his shield against a practice dummy, shooting Bull a glare and muttering under his breath before he stalked off to take a break.

When Bull looked back to Melora, she was frowning, looking up at him curiously. "Krem's coming?" she asked.

"They're worried about tipping the smugglers, so they want to keep this small. No army. No uniforms. My Chargers, me, you, maybe a few more for backup. Enough we can run a couple teams, cover the beach, but still stay tight enough that we're not going to raise any eyebrows till the dreadnought gets in close."

"What does the Inquisition get out of this? This sounds like we're playing mercenary for the Qun's benefit."

"They're calling it an alliance. And they're offering Qunari soldiers pointed at the Venatori, and naval power. They know the Inquisition doesn't have ships to defend the coast. Plus they say you'll get a lot more useful information, and access to reports from the full Ben-Hassrath spy network through Thedas. You want to know the dirt on what's going on just about anywhere, that's what you'll have."

"This is…" She shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. "The Qun doesn't have alliances, do they? There's converts, those tolerated till they convert, and enemies, none of which are the same as allies."

Bull's jaw clenched as he nodded. "It's… unprecedented. They've never made a full-blown alliance with a foreign power before. But they've identified themselves, and these are people with the authority to extend that offer." He stalled then with a rolling shrug, choosing his words carefully. "The Venatori pose a real threat, as does red lyrium, not just to the Qun but to the Inquisition as well. They're offering a way to ensure greater safety for both the Inquisition and the Qun."

Melora watched him quietly for a moment, thinking, and he wished she'd look somewhere else, stop staring him down. Was he sweating? Of course he was sweating. It was warm and he'd been training. He wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Are you alright?" she asked at last. "You seem… off. This has got to be..."

_Too sharp._

Bull gave her a smile and shook his head. "No, I'm good. It's just, uh… I'm used to them being _over there_. It's been a while."

"Would you rather we didn't do this?"

 _Yes,_ he wanted so desperately to say. _This is wrong, all wrong._

"Not my call," he said. "From what they're proposing, tactically, it's sound. They get something, we get something, and the Inquisition gets to be the first ever to say they've got an official alliance with the Qun." None of it was technically a lie… but only _just,_ feinting and dancing around the truth of it. What could he even tell her? He had nothing concrete, only suspicions.

And he had his orders.

Melora looked up at him with a crease between her eyebrows and another half dozen questions on the tip of her tongue. He could see her hesitating, worrying. "What do you think?" she asked.

Bull's mind spun, shuffling through possibilities for just how to phrase it. "I think it's an attractive opportunity worth considering," he settled on. Still not a lie. It was. So was a worm on a hook.

"Then… I guess we're doing this."

His heart sank, but Bull nodded. "I'll pass word on to Cullen and Red, and we should start preparing for the journey to the Storm Coast."

  
~*~

 

When Bull opened his eye, it was still mostly dark out, indigo painted across the waxed canvas tent except for one corner which glowed orange with the fire crackling outside. He could hear the first sleepy meanderings of birdsongs greeting the coming sun. There was also snoring from a few different directions, and as he listened closely, a soft creak of leather, the faint tap of metal on metal, and the snap of a hastily turned page. Cassandra was on watch, and Bull didn’t have to get up yet. The day had yet to truly begin. _This day. The day._

Melora lay at his side, curled against him with one leg thrown over his, her boot hard on his shin. Bull looked down to see his half of the dragon's tooth resting beside her forearm, the dawnstone chain pooled in the hollow of his collarbone. Her fingers clutched at the strap of his harness, holding onto him in her sleep.

She looked so peaceful, lips parted and her breath flowing across his skin. Bull pressed a kiss to the top of her head, lingering there to draw in the scent of her. Relaxed against him utterly, she seemed to melt into him, a pool of dreaming mage, walking somehow in the Fade even as she lay here with him at camp. He pulled her closer, encircling her in his arms, hugging her tight.

As he held her, Bull stared up at the tent above him, searching for answers in the darkness. It wasn't too late, was it? Make something up, mission called off on account of darkspawn? No, they'd all been with him the whole time, no way for him to have gotten any new information. He could get suddenly, violently ill, run off into the woods and claim he was shitting his guts out. Not like they'd want to see the evidence of that… But Melora'd insist on trying to help him, either with magic or her usual "we could try this herb I think I remember reading about years ago, and I'm almost certain it's this plant here, probably" method of herbology. He was pretty sure she must've failed that subject in mage school.

And even if he was too sick to travel, she'd insist on carrying on, as long as he wasn't dying. She was the Inquisitor, and this was her mission; she and Cassandra could go on and Varric could stay behind to feed him soup or whatever. He'd have to be on the edge of death before Melora would call it off. Well. That was doable, with the right dosage of some poisons. But the thing about the edge of death is that sometimes, you fall off. _Though that'd be pretty fucking effective at stopping this._

The fire flared suddenly brighter, a popping crackle from the firepit. Cassandra must've added another log or two. The light died back some, but it was getting lighter out anyway as dawn approached.

Bull closed his eye and took a shuddering breath, knocking his head back against the ground, trying to smack some sense into himself, to clear his thoughts. This was what he was here for. This was his mission. They'd said to bring her, to bring the Chargers. So that's what he was doing.

 _Tap._ A fat raindrop hit the tent. _Tap._ Another, on the other side, and another. _Tap tap tap._

_Oh, good. This was just getting better and better._

It wasn't long before Melora stirred, turning to the sound of the rain drumming on the tent, and she murmured sleepily, "S'raining?"

"Mmhmm."

"Morning yet?"

"Not quite."

"Mm, I should check on--"

 _Not yet._ "It's warm and dry right here. Don't get up."

"Arright. You convinced me," she said, shifting to throw her arm around his ribs, nuzzling up under his jaw, and her lips found his skin with a soft, lingering kiss. "Hm, will the rain make it harder for the dreadnought?"

Bull reached up to press the pad of his thumb between her eyebrows, rubbing gently there at the little crease of her frown. "Stop worrying," he said. "You don't have to be out there yet. Be in here with me a while longer."

_Not yet, please, not yet._

He could feel her smile against his neck, and her fingers danced to his hip and across the top of his thigh. "I am," Melora said, squeezing his leg with hers, "And, mmm, you feel very good."

It would've been so easy to give a twist of his hips, to respond with something dirty, to let it lead to his fingers tangled in her hair and her mouth on his. But the time would go quicker that way, and morning would come around the time she did. And it would be too easy to spend the next while thinking more about being quiet and touching as much of her as he could than thinking about the mission.

No matter what he did, the dawn would come, just like that song they'd sung to her at Haven. But Bull felt only dread at this coming sunrise, and a desperate desire to make these precious minutes of half-light last as long as they could.

So he caught Melora's hand where she was stroking at his thigh, and he brought it to his lips to kiss across the backs of her fingers. He whispered into her skin, to seal his words into her flesh, so they would sink inside her bones, " _Antaar vash sassran katadin ost. Ban erah, antaar ost tashaaketh arad, kadan-arvass." *_

She made a small, delighted sound and started to push herself up to look at him, but Bull still held her round the shoulders with his other arm, and he didn't let her move, holding her tight. Melora flopped back against him with a little laugh and said, "What's that mean?"

"Mm, hard to translate," he said. It would be hard to tell her that translation, that much was true. He took a deep breath. "It's, uh, something like a hope for good luck." Slightly less true, but in a certain light…

Melora _hmm_ ed, squeezing at his hand. "Who's the worried one now? You're nervous about this, aren't you?" Bull closed his eye then, preparing for her to probe further, close to breaking as it was. But she just laughed softly, breath warm on his ear, and scritched at his beard with her fingernails. "Afraid they're going to tell you this isn't regulation? You're out of uniform, you know. They might try to make you wear a shirt!"

_They might try to make her wear chains._

Bull forced a chuckle. "I think you'd miss the beard. I could make a shirt look damn good, though."

"You should ask Varric about his tailor. Wear your shirt open like his so you wouldn't have to cover up your _glorious_ tits."

Bull threw his head back and laughed just a little too loudly, the sound of Melora's laughter joining his even as she tried to shush him, her fingertips on his lips. The others were still asleep.

In spite of the knot in his guts, he couldn't help some of that smile beneath her fingers being genuine. Laughing with her was easy. Everything with her had been so easy from the very start. Oh, keeping her ass alive had been tricky here and there, but all the rest…

"Will you teach me Qunlat?" she asked, settling her head back down on his shoulder.

"Thought I had been."

"Well, yes, but usually just a few words here and there. It's not enough to really understand it or speak it myself."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"It might be useful, if we're getting this alliance. I would able to talk to whoever they might send, in their own language."

Bull gave a little shake of his head. "Anyone the Qun'd send over, you wouldn't need to speak Qunlat with. They're gonna be plenty fluent enough that it's not necessary at all."

"Sure, but it would be nice to be able to greet them in their own language, make them feel welcome. Right now I could swear at them, but that's about it. And… either way, I'd like to know more of it. Learning the little bits I have has made me feel sort of… well, like I understand you better. And it's a beautiful language."

"Heh, I already knew you liked my tongue," Bull said, smirking.

Melora snorted a little laugh. "That too."

Between the laughter and the talking, they must've been loud enough to hear outside the tent, because as footsteps approached, they heard Krem's voice call out, "So, Chief, you gonna keep playing grab-ass with your miniature girlfriend, or you gonna get out here and help us pack up the camp?"

"Miniature!" Melora scoffed.

"Hey, I'd ask you to help too, but we might lose track of you, roll you into one of the tents by accident. Plus it's raining, and there's some puddles out here. Don't want you to fall in one and drown," Krem said.

Bull couldn't help himself, his chest shaking with barely-contained laughter, and Melora gave him a playful smack. "Don't you encourage him."

"Don't blame me. He was a smartass when I met him."

"Yes, I'm sure you've done _nothing_ to contribute to that at all," she replied, dripping with sarcasm.

"Weeeellllll?" came Krem's voice again.

Bull grumbled, "Gimme a minute, damn."

"Lazy ox," snarked Krem.

"Mouthy Vint," Bull shot back, but by the sound of the footsteps receding, Krem was already walking away.

"Mm, he's right though. We should get up. Big day and all."

Bull pressed his lips together and nodded. "Yeah, you're right."

She started to get up, but again he pulled her back down, slipping a hand to the back of her head and catching her lips in a fierce kiss. Melora gave a confused laugh against his mouth and nipped lightly at him, kissing him back only for a moment before pushing herself up with a palm on his chest. "What was that for?" she asked.

Bull looked up into her eyes, desperate to find some way out of this. But there were no answers to be found in her curious face. This day was going to happen, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Not without disobeying orders. He'd set it into motion in the first place. Would this be the last time he held her like this? The last time she'd look at him without hate and sadness in her eyes? Would there even be a tomorrow, for any of them?

" _Kadan,_ I--"

But the words wouldn't come, and he swallowed them back, burning the back of his throat. He couldn't say it. Even in this last peaceful moment, his last chance to try to fix this, Bull couldn't tell her the truth. Couldn't even tell her how he felt about her.

"You what?" Melora kissed him softly, lingering there with her face close to his, her body half on him.

Bull shifted beneath her and said with a laugh, "I really gotta piss and you're laying right on my bladder."

_Coward._

"Oh! Shit, sorry," she said, giggling as she slid off him before reaching for her coat, folded at the end of the tent. "I'll go see if someone's started breakfast yet." She dragged her braid out from beneath her coat after she shrugged it on, and Bull clenched the bottom edge of the soft leather in his fist, trying to hold onto her for just a moment longer. But when Melora moved to her knees to crawl out of the tent, he let go, and she slipped out of the tent flap.

Bull drew a sharp, shaking breath through his nose and covered his face with both hands, hiding the pain there from even himself alone now in the tent.

When his hands fell away again and he forced himself to get up, he'd regained an unbroken mask of pleasant composure.

_* I won't let them take you. No matter what, I will keep you safe, my kadan._

  
~*~

  
He couldn't hear the waves over the sound of the pouring rain, but Bull knew they'd reached the coast when the land ahead seemed to fall away, only another hundred paces or so of wet rocks and trees with a lone tent flapping in the wind. And then, nothing beyond, or so it appeared from where they stood.

_Fitting, standing at the edge of oblivion._

"Looks like this is the place," Bull said, nodding to the tent. "Our Qunari contact should be here to meet us."

"He is," said a rough and oily voice from behind a nearby tree, and Bull's blood turned to ice. "Good to see you again, Hissrad."

"Gatt!" laughed Bull, throwing out his hands to the small, well-armored elven man in what Bull hoped looked more like surprised delight than confusion. Why the fuck had they sent _Gatt?_ "Last I heard, you were still in Seheron!"

Gatt looked tired, and old, these past years unkind to him. He tilted his worn face up to Bull and though he smiled, Gatt's eyes were weary. "They finally decided I'd calmed down enough to go back into the world. I've been working in Orlais and Nevarra for a few years now."

Interesting that they'd never crossed paths, even with as much time as Bull had spent in Orlais these past few years.

He cast a glance at Melora, who was looking between him and Gatt with a curious expression. "Boss, this is Gatt," Bull said. "We worked together in Seheron."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor. Hissrad's reports say you're doing good work," Gatt turned his smile to Melora.

"Nice to know he speaks well of me in his secret spy reports," she said with a little quirk of her eyebrow.

Gatt's mouth twisted. "He does. But his reports aren't really _secret,_ now are they?"

"Look, Gatt--" Bull started to say.

But Gatt only smiled. "Relax. Unlike our superiors, I know how it works out here, Hissrad."

"Hissrad?" she asked, and Bull's stomach turned at hearing _that_ on her lips.

"Under the Qun, we use titles, not names," Gatt explained blandly.

"My title was 'Hissrad' because I was assigned to secret work. You can translate it as 'keeper of illusions' or--"

Gatt rolled his eyes and gave a snort under his breath. "Liar. It means 'liar.'"

Bull's mask cracked, and he glared at Gatt, that cover of jovial cheer dissolving for an instant. "Well, you don't have to say it like _that."_

Covering well for her nervousness, Melora's smile looked almost genuine. "How nice that you two already know each other. The Qun must be smaller than I thought."

In spite of the sick feeling in his belly, Bull couldn't help but feel a surge of pride, not just at her self-control but her cleverness. She had caught a hint of how weird this was.

"That a crack about my height?" Gatt asked, grinning. "Because from where I stand, the Inquisition's looking even smaller."

"Bull, I see you haven't changed your taste in friends," Melora said, glancing back at Krem and then up at Bull with a smirk before turning back to Gatt. "And it seems we've all gained a common enemy."

Gatt gave a thoughtful nod. "Hopefully this will help both our peoples. Tevinter is dangerous enough without the influence of this Venatori cult. If this new form of lyrium helps them seize power in Tevinter, the war with Qunandar could get worse."

"As if it wasn't bad enough," Bull grumbled, flashes of Seheron tumbling through his mind even as he tried to shut them out.

"The Ben-Hassrath agree. That's why we're here," Gatt replied, watching Melora as he spoke. "Our dreadnought is out of view, and safely out of range of any Venatori mages on shore. We'll need to eliminate the Venatori, then signal the dreadnought so it can come in and take out the smuggler ship. My agents have found two Venatori camps guarding the shore. There's a big camp on top of that high cliff there, jutting out into the water. Perfect place for mages to attack from. They've also got another smaller group near a hill leading down to the beach over that way. If we want to keep the Venatori from doing some serious damage, we'll need to hit both camps at once, and then signal the dreadnought once it's safe to come in."

Melora frowned in thought for a moment before looking up at Bull. "What do you think?"

 _They're trying to split us up._ "Don't know," Bull said because truly, he didn't know what to think now. Was this even a real mission at all? Was there really a smuggling ship and a dreadnought? Or were a few dozen Ben-Hassrath going to emerge from the trees as soon as the Inquisition's numbers were divided, and make short work of each smaller group? "I've never liked covering a dreadnought run. Too many ways for crap to go wrong. If our scouts underestimate enemy numbers, we're dead. If we can't lock down the Venatori mages, the ship is dead. It's risky."

_Bit of an understatement._

"Riskier than letting red lyrium into Minrathous?" Gatt asked Bull with a sneer. He knew the bait he had was too good to pass up.

Bull fixed Gatt with an icy stare. _He's pulling_ something, _just haven't figured out what yet._

"I'll come with you, boss," Bull said, looking down at Melora. "Let Krem lead the Chargers."

"Not leading your own men, even on an important mission like this? You _have_ changed, haven't you?" Gatt said with a cloying smile.

Bull ignored the remark and turned to Krem, standing nearby along with the Chargers, Varric, and Cassandra. "You're going to want a volley to start," Bull said, "But don't get suckered in to fighting at range. They've got mages."

"It's alright. We've got a mage of our own," Krem said.

"I'm not a mage!" protested Dalish.

"Get in close and take their enchanter down before he takes over the battlefield."

"He'll be dead before he knows it." Krem grinned.

"Once they're down, send up your signal. That'll let the dreadnought know it's safe to come in once they see ours too. Just… pay attention, alright? The Vints want this red lyrium shipment bad."

"Yes, I know," replied Krem, rolling his eyes. "Thanks, Mother."

"Qunari don't have mothers, remember?" Bull said.

"We'll be fine, Chief."

"Alright," Bull replied, and then he turned to the rest of them, lifting his voice to be heard above the pouring rain. "Chargers! Horns up!"

"Horns up!" the Chargers shouted, raising fists to the grey sky.

Bull turned to Melora and gave her a nod. "Ready whenever you are, boss."

_If this was going to happen, just get it over with._

"Let's go, then."

"Right." He turned to his men and said, "Chargers! Hit 'em hard and hit 'em fast!"

"You got it, Chief," said Krem, bringing his fist to his chest in a salute, and then he turned to the Chargers. "Chargers! Double-time! Let's move!"

The Chargers moved off toward the beach as Gatt strolled up beside Bull, smirking, and Gatt said, "You gave your Chargers the easier target."

Gatt led the way up the other cliff, and Melora walked alongside him. Bull stayed within a few paces behind her. He wasn't going to let her out of his sight. Varric and Cassandra followed at the rear of the group.

"You think?" Bull asked.

"Lower and farther from the smugglers' ship? It's much less likely to be heavily defended," Gatt said over his shoulder.

"Suppose we'll do the heavy lifting, then. Just like old times."

Gatt chuckled in response, but there was something sinister in the sound.

Melora turned to Gatt, taking the opportunity to ask, "So, you knew Bull back in Seheron?"

_Ah, fuck, of all the things for her to pick at now._

"Yes," replied Gatt with a nod. "He led the group that freed me. I was a magister's slave, and when the magister went to Seheron, he brought me along. For company. Hissrad and his men attacked my master's ship and killed him as well as his soldiers. Hissrad set me free."

"Free to join the Qun," Melora said. Bull started to jump in, to steer the conversation somewhere else… but right now, the less he said, the better.

Gatt snorted. "I had just watched a giant, horned warrior kill the magister who hurt me. I was _eight_. The Qun isn't perfect, but it gave me a better life."

"Interesting," said Melora. "I've heard a lot about Seheron. He never mentioned you."

"One of the few things he hasn't shared with you, I gather." Gatt gave a humourless laugh. "Sure, Hissrad, share the secret Ben-Hassrath reports, but keep that bit where you saved the elf boy to yourself."

Melora raised an eyebrow. "I thought the Ben-Hassrath knew he was passing along information to us."

"To a point, yes. The Ben-Hassrath aren't pleased with how forthcoming Hissrad has been, but he was one of their best agents. He kept the streets clean in Seheron longer than anyone before him, or after. He fought until it nearly killed him."

"I know," she said. _What was she doing?_

Gatt blinked. "You do?"

"That surprises you?"

"I doubt you know the whole story," Gatt said.

"I know enough," replied Melora, and after a pause, she asked, "Will that sharing of reports be a problem?"

"The Ben-Hassrath respect Hissrad enough to accept how he joined the Inquisition, even if they don't like it. Besides, they hate to discard a tool that might still have some use left in it. That's why I still have a job."

"Spend some time at the _viddathlok,_ did you?" she asked.

Gatt stared openly at Melora now, clearly surprised. "Yeeess… I had a temper. Hissrad's nickname for me, 'Gatt,' comes from _gaatlok,_ the explosive power in Qunari cannons. I was so angry when I was first freed. I wanted revenge. When I was old enough, I fought Tevinter forces in Seheron. I was too angry to do much else. But I wanted to find my family, still enslaved in Minrathos. I thought about leaving when the Qun didn't tell me what I wanted to hear. But I didn't."

"Not even to find your family once you were grown?"

"I found a new family, in the Qun. The Qunari were always ready to listen, to teach. They cared for me as much as one of their own. And if I leave, the parts of the Qun I don't like are never going to change. And the Qun's the best hope for dismantling Tevinter, even if it has to be done brick by brick."

"Do you find that enough of a comfort to have abandoned your family?" Melora asked. Bull could suddenly see what she was doing. She'd picked up that something was off and she was trying to puzzle Gatt out, to look for any cracks in his armor. She was doing just as Bull had taught her. Gatt said he had a temper, so she was going to poke at it and see what came out.

Gatt scowled. "I didn't abandon them. I was _taken_ from them, and I ended up somewhere better. It took me a long time to accept the Qun, to get past justice to _purpose_. Some days are still difficult. But the way life is under the Qun… It's… fair, at least. That's not something you can say in this world very often. I like the simplicity. I like knowing my place, and knowing that it's the right place. I've struggled with it. But something being difficult isn't a reason to give up on it."

Bull's mind turned, beginning to catch on to why Gatt was here. The Ben-Hassrath were trying to get under Bull's skin, to remind him of where he really came from, of everything he'd fought for. So they'd sent the kid he'd saved who'd left behind everything he knew to join the Qun, and who'd stayed even when it was difficult.

The group made their way up the path winding around the side of the cliff, and as they rounded a corner, Gatt said, "Be careful. My agents said to expect opposition ahead of the main camp."

Bull rolled his eye. "We've all done this a few times, Gatt."

"You've been living outside the Qun for years now, _Iron Bull._ Just wanted to make sure your reflexes hadn't gotten as soft as the rest of you."

Deadpan, Bull said, "Ouch." He wasn't going to let Gatt get to him.

Melora unsheathed her daggers and gave them a quick twirl over her fingers before grasping the handles.

Gatt's eyes went wide, and he looked at her curiously. "I was under the impression you were a mage."

Melora laughed. "I am. I just don't use a staff."

"So you, what, stab things instead?" Gatt sounded skeptical.

With little more than a narrowing of her eyes, Melora lit the blade of her left dagger with tongues of flame, spitting and hissing as the rain touched the flame, and the right blade she frosted over with crystals of ice. "Something like that," she replied, and she let the spells fade. There was something in her voice, the faintest hint of derision, and Bull felt a small measure of relief. She was being wary of Gatt, not trusting him just because he was Bull's old friend. Good.

But Bull still wasn't taking his eye off of her for even a moment.

"Now that the Circles have fallen, it must please you to wield your power so freely," Gatt said.

"Yes," Melora replied, smiling her unsettling, creepy smile. "It does. I'm no longer a prisoner in a Circle tower, subject to the abuses and whims of the Templars, constantly under threat of being made Tranquil if I offend the wrong person. I'm out here helping people, saving lives. And trying to save Thedas."

"And with noone to answer to or to watch for signs of possession," Gatt shot back. Damn, she was good, getting under his skin.

"Afraid of a tiny little _bas-saarebas_ are you?"

Gatt blinked and turned back to glance at Bull. "Guess he's been sharing a lot more than just reports with you," Gatt said to her.

Melora said nothing in reply, just smirked knowingly.

They crested the hill and the ground began to level out. Beyond the trees, they could see a clearing, and within it, a banner bearing the mark of the Venatori. Their group slowed, and as Bull watched, he could see something or someone moving within the clearing.

"Vints up ahead," said Bull, lowering his voice. He watched for another breath or two and added, "Looks like… six?"

"We can't let them warn the others," said Gatt, and he drew his short sword.

Melora flicked her gaze up to Bull, a question in her eyes that did not need to be said.

"He's right. Hit 'em fast, keep them occupied."

"Throw me at them, fire on one side and blades on the other?" she asked.

"Yeah, that'd do it."

"Alright," Melora said with a nod, and she turned back to Varric and Cassandra. "Varric, hang back, pick off anyone who tries to run or raise the alarm. Cassandra, come in with Bull and you two can try to push them back. And Gatt can…"

She turned then to Gatt, eyeing his short sword, and then looked back up to Bull. He already knew Gatt's fighting style. "Go wide," Bull said, "Around the other side from Varric. Work the edges."

"Understood," said Gatt.

Bull readied his axe before he stooped and turned his back to Melora, who sheathed one dagger temporarily and then wedged the toe of her boot under the top edge of his belt. She took hold of his right horn, hoisting herself up onto his back.

"What in the--" spluttered Gatt as Bull straightened up.

"It's called the Bull and Arrow," Melora said from over Bull's head, as if that were a sufficient explanation, and not a name for it she'd made up while loopy on elfroot. Bull pressed back a laugh. "Oh, and when Bull shouts 'now' you'll want to close your eyes for two breaths."

Varric clapped Gatt on the back and grinned. "Don't ask, just go with it. They're nuts, but they put on a great show." Then Varric shrugged Bianca off his back and extended the crossbow's arms, waggling his eyebrows. "We all do. Especially the Seeker."

Cassandra rolled her eyes. "I do not 'put on a show.'"

Varric said cheerfully, "You keep saying that, but you're not the one watching from ass height as you run ahead. I assure you--"

Cassandra reddened and cuffed him lightly on the shoulder, making an exasperated noise. "Shhh," she hissed.

_Well. There was something. Good for them. 'Bout time._

"Everybody ready?" Melora asked.

"Let's go," Varric said, crossbow in hand, and Cassandra gave a nod, ready with her sword and shield.

Reluctantly, Gatt nodded too. "If this is your plan, then, I suppose so."

"I like your enthusiasm. Whenever you're ready, Bull," said Melora.

He wasn't ready. But this was happening anyway.

Bull nodded, and with his axe in hand, he took off at a brisk jog, closing the distance to the clearing. Cassandra clanked along in her armor beside him, keeping up with ease. And with one knee planted on his shoulder, Melora balanced atop Bull's back. Even though he couldn't see her face, he knew she was grinning with delight at this. The clearing got closer, and Bull sped up. Strong and nimble, Cassandra easily matched his speed.

The Venatori heard them coming and turned toward the sound.

"Three!" shouted Bull. Melora shifted both her feet to his shoulders, squatting low and hanging on tight.

They'd definitely been spotted now.

"Two!"

The Venatori started to draw, and two of them reached for staves. The Vints were clustered together, six against their five. Was that it? This was gonna be _easy_.

"One!"

Their enchanters were raising spells, staves glowing in the shifting grey, and those with swords were rushing forward.

 _"NOW!"_ Bull yelled, and he threw his good leg out in front of him. He stopped suddenly, skidding in the soft mud and wet pine needles. Cassandra stopped, too, throwing her shield out for balance.

And at the same time, Melora sprang from his shoulders, using his momentum to throw her even further, arcing up over the heads of the Venatori, who all looked up to watch the baffling sight of her inexplicably sailing over them.

Bull squeezed his eye shut and ducked his head just before she set off a flash that dazzled him even behind his closed eye. With the thunderstorm, a sudden flash would be no cause for alarm if the other group of Venatori saw it… But with all the Vints in front of them staring…

Bull opened his eye as soon as he heard the Vints start shouting in confused dismay, blinded by the sudden flash. But he paid little attention to them, trying to see Melora beyond them.

He didn't need to look long, because behind the line of the Venatori, an arc of flame roared to life as if the very ground had turned to fire. She was up and casting. She was alright.

 _Thwack_. A crossbow bolt hit one of the mages in the chest, and the mage crumpled into a pile of robes.

Together, Cassandra and Bull rushed forward again, Cassandra's shield a formidable battering ram, and they clotheslined three of the Venatori swordsmen who were still attempting a foolish, clumsy charge, throwing them directly into the line of flame. They fell blindly into the fire, screaming and writhing. It was but a moment before the flames winked out with a wave of Melora's hand, and Cassandra and Bull put the dying men out of their misery.

 _Thwack._ The other mage fell to a second crossbow bolt.

One left, and the remaining swordsman was still dazed and blinking, unable to even identify a target much less fight.

Melora's boots crunched on the charred ground as she skirted around the smoldering bodies. Cassandra and Bull advanced on the last guy standing.

With a single dagger in hand, Melora pointed it the remaining swordsman's feet and whispered under her breath. Blue-white crystals of ice crackled as they grew from the ground around the terrified man's boots, crawling halfway up to his knees before they froze solid. The swordsman's arms wheeled as he tried to move despite being stuck fast, and he nearly toppled backward, dropping his sword in the process.

Where the fuck was Gatt? Bull whipped his head one way, then the other… And saw Gatt taken a knee, one hand pressed over his eyes.

_She told him to close his eyes, and he forgot. Idiot._

Melora stepped up in front of the swordsman, her dagger still in her hand, but held now at her side. "Speak truth and you may live," she told him, looking up into his fear-struck face as he blinked helplessly. "Where are the rest of you on this cliff?"

"There are no more. You've killed us all. And if you're going to kill me, hurry up and get it over with!"

"Bull, bind his hands, please," Melora said. "Tie him to that tree over there. If we live, we'll come back for him."

"And if you don't live?" asked the swordsman.

"Well, then I suspect you won't either," Melora replied with a shrug.

Bull retrieved a length of rope and yanked the man's hands behind his back, swiftly and firmly binding his wrists. The guy was shaking. Bull gave Melora a nod once he was done.

She flicked her dagger, and the ice trapping the swordsman dissolved into little more than a wet sheen on the man's boots.

Bull hauled him over to a sturdy tree and told him to sit down before securely tying the guy to the tree.

"You're taking prisoners?" Gatt said incredulously, and he was getting to his feet, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"We don't kill anyone once they can't fight back," Melora said.

"He would have if he could," protested Gatt, looking down the end of his nose as if it were hard to focus.

"Probably. But he can't. And he may yet have useful information." Melora looked to Cassandra. "Can you run a quick perimeter, make sure we're clear?"

"Of course," said Cassandra with a quick nod, and she started off to double check that they'd secured the cliff.

"Can you make out any of your mercenaries from here?" Gatt asked Bull, squinting in the general direction of the other hill.

Bull walked to within a few paces of the edge of the cliff, trying to peer past the rain to get a clear view. "Not yet."

"Worried?"

"They're my men. I've been with some of them for years."

"We're clear!" called Cassandra.

"Right," Gatt said. "Signalling the dreadnought!"

Gatt pulled a cylinder wrapped in wax paper from a pocket on his belt and knelt down to poke the stick on the end down into the ground. He had a flint and steel, and the fuse should've caught easily… But the rain was so heavy, it was dripping right off the fuse, and it wouldn't light.

"Dammit," spat Gatt. "It's too wet. It won't start."

"Really?" asked Melora innocently as she rubbed her fingers and thumb together in the direction of the fuse. The water upon it spluttered into steam and the fuse caught, burning quickly with a bright orange spark.

Gatt stumbled back and the others gave the rocket plenty of room as the fuse burned down, and with a screech, a bright, lingering red flame shot high into the air, drifting slowly down across the water.

"Chargers just sent theirs up, too," Bull said, looking down at the hill. He could see figures moving down there, but he couldn't make out much more. But the glimmering ball of red hanging over the hill told him that his boys had taken the other camp.

"I knew you gave them the easier job," Gatt said with a smirk.

Bull shrugged and turned his attention to the water. Out of the shifting sheets of rain, a dark shape emerged. Pointed and hulking, it coasted through the turbulent waves, riding through the water like a shark scenting blood. Despite Bull's apprehension, it was still a sight to behold.

"There's the dreadnought," Bull said, waiting until the rest of them were looking out at the ship to take a half step closer to Melora, sighing wistfully. "Ahh, that brings back memories."

Two huge bursts of flame erupted from the deck of the dreadnought, belching black smoke as they arced over the water. It was only when the flames illuminated the sails that the smuggler ship became visible against the falling rain, and the fireballs burst on the ship's side, spilling flame onto the water.

"Ha, nice one!" Bull chortled, and it was. Whatever else was happening here, at least he had a damn good view.

Bull glanced back toward the hill with the Chargers… And he froze.

On the beach, at least a dozen Venatori were making for the hill.

 _"Crap,"_ Bull muttered, watching helplessly as the realization dawned on him… Why there had been so little resistance on the cliff. There'd been just a half dozen guys, but Gatt had said it'd be the harder camp to take.

The scouting had been done by Gatt's agents. And Gatt had been the one to report it. Gatt… who knew Bull's tactics, the way he treated those under his command. Gatt knew Bull would never send his men into more danger than he was in himself.

Bull felt Melora's hand on his arm. She'd seen them too. "They can still get out of there."

"No, they can't. Your men need to hold that position, Hissrad," Gatt said.

"They do that, they're dead," Bull snarled, knowing now that Gatt had set it up that way.

"And if the don't, the Venatori retake it, and the dreadnought is dead. There's a hundred men on that ship! And you'd be throwing away an alliance between the Inquisition and the Qunari!" Gatt's gaze flicked between Bull and Melora, lingering for only a fraction longer at the way her hand still rested on his forearm. "You'd be declaring yourself Tal-Vashoth!"

Every moment that went by brought the Venatori closer to the Chargers. Bull could see Krem down there, little more than a speck in the distance, a bright spot of shining plate armor wielding a huge maul. Krem was moving, already aware of the Venatori, and Bull knew he had to be shouting at Dalish to get a barrier up. But Dalish had never been very good with the defensive stuff. And there were a _lot_ of Vints coming.

But Gatt was still ranting. "With all you've given to the Inquisition, half the Ben-Hassrath think you've betrayed us already!" There it was, then. In the rush of the moment, Gatt let spill more than he should've. That was the real reason for all this, or at least part of it. Gatt knew he'd said too much, and he tried to cover by using a different approach. "I stood up for you, Hissrad! I told them you would _never_ become Tal-Vashoth."

"They are going to die," snarled Bull, wanting to throw the little shit right off the cliff. Gatt had fucking tricked him, put the Chargers in danger on purpose. It was a trap, and Bull had known it, and he'd walked right in anyway. But he hadn't expected the Qun would target the Chargers. "And they're _my men."_

"I know!" Gatt said, trying to sound sympathetic. "But you need to do what's right, Hissrad. For this alliance… And for the Qun."

Bull stared down at the beach as the Venatori closed in on his boys. Dammit, he had his orders… But that was _Krem_ down there. Krem, who Bull had lost an eye for. Krem, who Bull had found as a scared, angry kid and welcomed into the Chargers. Krem, who had learned to stand tall and grew strong, wielding that ridiculous maul just as well as his new-found confidence.

This is why the Qun wanted the Chargers to come, why they wanted the Inquisitor to come. This was all some stupid fucking _test_. Oh, they wanted to stop the red lyrium, but they'd have backup plans for that. Swifter ships offshore to track them, intelligence on where they were going. This was as much about red lyrium as it was about testing Bull's loyalty, and the Inquisitor's trust in him. Gatt had known just how to trick him - and now Krem was going to die for it. It should've been Bull down there, not Krem. He should've seen through Gatt's lies, should have known.

Bull turned to Melora in desperation. She was in charge.

Melora reached out and took the signal horn from Bull's belt and placed it in his hands.

"This is your choice," she said softly.

"No. You're the Inquisitor. You're running this mission."

She shook her head. "Those are your Chargers. The Qunari are your people. And this is your life. I can't decide this for you."

Bull had been hurtling down a canyon, caught in a flash flood, and there was no way out. Only the inevitable. But she had just given him a choice. A chance for something different. Krem could live. All Bull had to do was give up everything he'd ever believed, and betray the Qun.

Swallowing hard, Bull looked out across the beach to where Krem stood. The Venatori were halfway there, and they were getting closer every second. There was precious little time to think this through.

He looked back down at Melora, and in her eyes, Bull saw his own fearful reflection. And there, too, he suddenly saw a very different future. Ever since he got that dead drop, he'd been staring into what he thought was an inevitable end. But maybe she'd just given him something else: a new beginning. And a choice.

Bull took a deep breath, and he let it out with his lips pressed to the mouthpiece of the horn. The sound of the horn ringing over the hills was the sound of his life changing forever, for the second time on this beach.

The veil of rain parted enough to see Krem gesture to the Chargers, and then they quickly started back toward the path away from the hill.

Gatt lowered his head, shoulders slumping, and he took a few steps away. "All these years, Hissrad, and you throw away all that you are. For what? For this? For _them?"_ Gatt swept an arm toward the hill, pointing at the Chargers, and then he glared at Bull, his eyes focused on the dragon's tooth hanging in the center of Bull's chest. "For _her?"_

Before Bull could reply, Melora smiled that terrifyingly sweet smile and said, "You keep calling him Hissrad. His name is the Iron Bull."

Gatt heaved a heavy sigh. "I suppose it is." And without another word, Gatt walked away.

The Venatori had made it to the cliff, and had taken up position where the Chargers had stood. Their mages had begun conjuring spells, the top of the hill lit up from half a dozen different places as they gathered their magic.

Bull looked to the dreadnought, his face stricken. "No way they'll get out of range. Won't be long now."

"They're close to shore. If we can signal them… Or even if we can't, the survivors could get to the beach. Between us and the Chargers, we could retake that hill, save the survivors when the dreadnought sinks."

"Sinks?" Bull looked down at her as the first volleys of fire from the mages on the hill lit up the dreadnought. And despite everything, there was pride in his voice as he said, "Qunari dreadnoughts don't just _sink_. Everyone cover your ears and look away!"

She looked confused but did as he said, and Bull clamped both hands over his own ears as the deck caught flame, another hail of fire from the Venatori engulfing the dreadnought.

A moment later, the dreadnought exploded in a massive ball of red-orange flame, throwing chunks of burning wood out in every direction. The sound hit them then too, a _WHUMPH_ that made Bull's ears ring even despite the cover of his hands. He stepped forward to get between Melora and the blast, turning his back to it and ducking his head just as bits of splintered wood and smoldering pieces of shrapnel began to rain down on them. But chunks that made it this far were small, the explosion having torn the dreadnought to shreds.

Ash mixed with the rain and fell like wet snow onto them as they looked out over the water. What little was left of the dreadnought was on fire, thick black smoke billowing from the pieces still afloat, and chunks of charred wood were starting to wash up on shore.

Bull felt the brush of Melora's hand against his, and she interlaced her fingers with his own. He said nothing but squeezed that gentle, reassuring hand, grateful for her touch. He thought they were coming here to die. But they were alive. _She_ was alive.

Bull still felt like crap.

Everyone was quiet, watching as remains of the dreadnought slipped beneath the waves. Sails slashed with shrapnel from being so close to the explosion and a few small fires still burning on its deck, the smugglers' ship limped along out of the bay, with no one around to stop it.

They stood in silence but for the sound of the rain and the waves and the ringing in their ears, and after a few minutes, Bull said softly, "Come on. Let's get back to my boys."

~*~

They were to regroup back up the coast, at the camp where they'd met Gatt. He'd gotten there first, having left while they still watched the dreadnought.

Gatt stood beneath the tent, arms crossed over his chest. Bull approached warily alongside Melora as Gatt said to her, "Inquisitor. It is my duty to inform you there will be no alliance between our peoples. Nor will you be receiving any more Ben-Hassrath reports from your _Tal-Vashoth_ ally." He nearly spat the word at Bull's feet.

Bull regarded Gatt with crossed arms and a joyless smirk. "You under orders to kill me, Gatt?" There was no way they were just going to let Bull go.

"No," said Gatt. "The Qunari have already lost too many good men today. They don't need to lose another. Though I suppose they lost _you_ a long time ago, didn't they?"

So not today. But they would come for him.

"Maybe they did," Bull said. Though until that moment when Melora handed him the signal horn, he hadn't been sure.

"A hundred men," sneered Gatt looking up at Bull. "I hope your _bas-saarebas_ is worth it."

_She is._

But Bull said nothing. Gatt turned to go, but Melora took a step forward and said, "Gatt… For what it's worth, I'm sorry about the dreadnought. Please, pass along the regrets of the Inquisition to your superiors. And if there's anything we can do to try to--"

"Save your breath," Gatt snapped. "Goodbye, Inquisitor. Goodbye, Hissrad."

Bull watched Gatt walk away as the Chargers were coming the other way down the path toward the camp. Gatt passed by Krem, and Bull had a strange feeling come over him at the sight, as if he'd just exchanged one friend for another, one life for another.

Krem was grinning as he strolled up. "Gonna be sore tomorrow from fighting off all those Vints."

"If you'd do it with a sword and not swinging around half a mountain, you might not be so achy the next day," Melora replied with a smirk. "The Chargers are alright?"

"Just fine, thanks to you and the Chief. We had plenty of time to fall back."

Melora gave a nod. "Good. When we get back to Skyhold, drinks are on me."

Krem laughed. "Now there's an idea! Hey, Chargers, Inquisitor's getting us drunk when we get back!"

"Then why are we standing around here?" yelled Rocky in reply.

Melora smiled and said, "I think we've all had enough of the Storm Coast. Let's start back. If we move fast, we might be able to get up out of this damp before nightfall and get a good night's sleep," Melora said.

"On the ground, at a temporary camp?" Krem asked.

"I've found there are few places I sleep better," she replied.

Krem glanced up at Bull, grinning. "She just lays on you, doesn't she? No rocks in her back when she's got her own portable mattress." Damn it was good to see Krem alive, to hear his stupid ribbing, and see that smartass grin.

Bull laughed and clapped Krem on the back, giving the kid a warm, genuine smile. "Nah, I just tire her out so much, she doesn't care anymore."

 

~*~

 

It was still raining at nightfall when they made camp, setting up tents in a clearing not far from the road. The Chargers all conspicuously looked away, some of them whistling nonchalantly, as Dalish lit the fire with her "bow." They settled into the camp and the group raised their voices in song, the raucous noise seeming to push back the dark and the damp and make everything seem a little brighter.

Varric and Cassandra retreated to their tent early, trying to ignore Melora's smirking at them from over the top of her knitting.

Melora sat next to Bull by the fire, singing along to some of the songs she knew. Bull couldn't help but watch her, the firelight illuminating her face as she sang, bobbing her head in time with the melody and not missing a stitch.

She was alive. She was safe. For all of his fears, he had done what he had vowed to do. And when she looked at him, it was with the same warmth she always had. How had they all made it through unscathed?

_At the cost of a hundred lives. And probably his, too. Just not today._

When the fire had burned down and Skinner took the watch, Bull followed Melora into their tent, laying down next to her on his side, and he tried to let his hand settle on her hip naturally, tried to relax, even as he wanted to clutch her to him, unable to believe that he was back here again with her.

Melora was quiet, looking up at him in the darkness, barely visible, and he felt her hand slide along his cheek. "Are you alright?" she asked softly.

Bull took a deep breath through his nose. "I dunno yet."

"Talk to me," she said, stroking her fingertips down his skin and over the scruff of his beard. "What's going on in that head of yours? Maybe I can help."

"There's no helping this, _kadan_."

"I'm proud of you," she said.

Proud of him. The words made him sick. She had no idea what she'd been led into. How much he'd known, how much he hadn't let on. Had it been the right choice? The Chargers were alive, and that was good, but…

When he said nothing, she rubbed her thumb along his skin. "I'm sorry that this--"

"No," Bull growled. "Don't you dare apologize for this. My boys are alive. And the rest, that's on me. Don't even think about being sorry about it."

"That's not what I'm sorry about. I'm happy they're alive, especially Krem. He's my friend too. I was going to say that I'm sorry that this is hard on you. Harder than you're letting on outside this tent, singing and laughing like nothing's wrong when I know you've got to be reeling. This is a big deal for you. I'm not sorry about the outcome, but that you have to go through this."

"Didn't have to," he said, barely audible.

"I know. And that's why I'm proud of you. You made the right choice."

"Yeah."

"Bull?"

"Yeah?"

"Are we alright?"

"We're good, _kadan._ Just, uh, give me some time."

"I can do that. And if you want to talk, you know I'm here for you."

"I know. Thanks."

"Get some sleep, Bull."

"You gonna sleep on me again?"

Melora laughed softly in the darkness. "Thanks for not telling Krem he was right about that."

"Eh, he doesn't need to know what things are really like when you and me are alone. Besides, I like it. You're like a pointy little blanket that snores and drools on me."

"Gee, thanks, Bull." She nipped at his neck playfully and Bull gave a pleasant chuckle.

"Anytime," he said as she draped herself over his chest. Bull yanked the blanket up over her and settled his arms around her.

"I do not snore," she muttered against the side of his neck.

"You do drool though."

"Do not."

Bull kissed the top of her head, "Good night, _kadan._ "

She hugged him closer, nuzzling at his neck. "Good night, my Iron Bull."

Bull's heart skipped a beat at that, and he squeezed her tighter.

He lay awake for a long time, stroking her back and staring into the darkness as she began to softly snore upon him.

  
~*~

  
The attack didn't come on the way back, and really, Bull wasn't surprised. Between the Inquisitor's group and the Chargers, they made for a pretty imposing target. There just weren't enough Ben-Hassrath in this part of Ferelden to try a direct attack. And maybe that's not what the Qun wanted anyway.

They got back to Skyhold unscathed, and that first night back, Melora made good on her promise, opening the bar of the Herald's Rest not only to the Chargers, but anyone else who wanted a drink. She was acting like it was a celebration, and not like the Inquisition had just lost any chance of an alliance with the Qun. _Not that there'd been any real chance at one anyway._

And it was quiet for days after, too. Bull kept his eye out, sticking close to Melora, attending all the war council meetings with her, just to be safe. They'd come for him… but they might come for her, too.

It wasn't until a week later that he noticed two new guards patrolling the walls, and they didn't move quite like new recruits. They were too wary, looking around in the wrong way, glancing at each other just a little too often. It was subtle, but it was there. But Bull couldn't get a good enough look at them without tipping them off that he knew who they were, couldn't study them any closer than from afar.

He could probably take these two by himself, but not knowing for sure, he wanted someone else there. He could've asked Krem, but Krem's preferred choice of weapons was a little conspicuous. Melora _was_ a weapon, a more and more formidable one with each passing day. And if he was going to be fighting for his life, there's no one he would rather have watching his back. Besides, if they were waiting to catch the two of them together, might as well go into it expecting it.

So after breakfast, Bull suggested they go for a walk up on the wall. It was a beautiful morning, the sky bright blue and the mountains all around gleaming, and warm enough Melora'd rolled her sleeves up to her elbows and taken off her knit scarf, stuffing it into her pocket instead. She smelled nice, scrubbed clean of all the road dirt, and she'd brushed her hair until it shone, draped over one shoulder to leave the back of her neck bare. Bull's eye settled on that spot of skin as they climbed the stairs, on the bite mark he'd left there last night. He'd had her at every opportunity since they'd gotten back, unable to keep his hands off her. Time still felt short, waiting for this to play out how it would.

They got to the top of the wall and Melora looked up at him with a little smile. "So I had an idea…" she said.

"Oh yeah?" Bull asked as the two new guards approached. Their eyes were on him.

"Mmhmm. Well, I know you're not very fond of horses, but one of the barn cats had kittens, and I was thinking--" Bull heard the sound of a blade being pulled from its sheath.

"Defensive, _now!"_ he said quietly, cutting her off.

"What?" she spluttered.

Bull whirled and punched the closest guy in the face, _hard_. Nose broken and pouring blood, the assassin stumbled back, groaning as the other got out his own knife and threw.

The knife blade lodged in Bull's side, a sudden white-hot pain. Bull grunted and yanked the knife out, throwing it back. The blade buried itself in the second assassin's throat, and he fell to the ground with a gush of his life's blood splattering on the stone.

The one with the broken nose spat at Bull's feet, glaring as he said, _"Ebost issala,Tal-Vashoth."_

_Oh, no._

Bull seized the guy and threw him right over the wall, yelling after him, "Yeah, yeah. My soul's dust, but yours is scattered all over the ground, though, so…"

 _Ebost issala, mator salaban, vashek talas, mator viddatal._ Return to dust, await water, become clay, await purpose.

Every Qunari knew the saying, had heard it a thousand times. It was an admonishment for humility, a reminder to trust in the guidance of the Qun, to put aside personal desire and selfishness and to wait for guidance to come from one's superiors.

This hadn't been a real hit, but a signal. Oh, they'd have killed him alright, if he hadn't fought back. But the Qun hadn't really wanted him dead.

Bull thought he was going to be sick, and he knew some of that was the poison, but it wasn't all of it.

He'd only figured out half of it. Fuck, of course. It'd been a test for Bull… But it had also been a test for the Inquisitor. He was still the closest person to her.

They were never going to be done with him. The Qun would never let him go. He knew too much.

Leaning against the wall, he felt Melora's hand on his back. "Are you alright?" she asked.

"I'm fine. It's just a knife wound," he said, turning to her, holding his hand over the slash on his side. It wasn't deep, but damn it burned.

"Couldn't it have been poisoned, though?"

"Oh, it was definitely poisoned. _Saar-qamek,_ liquid form. If I hadn't been dosing myself with the antidote, I'd be going crazy and puking my guts up right now. As it is, stings like shit, but that's about it."

"You knew about them ahead of time?" Melora blinked confusedly up at him.

Bull nodded. "Little change in the guard rotation tipped me off."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Anger crept into her voice, and he couldn't really blame her.

"I know you're getting pretty good at the stuff I've been teaching you, but these guys infiltrated Skyhold. If I'd warned you or the guards, they'd have been tipped off, and maybe the next guys, I wouldn't see coming until it was too late. But I thought I might need backup, so…"

"I'm not even armed!"

Bull couldn't help but chuckle, and he shook his head. "You're a mage. You're always armed."

"But--"

"This wasn't a serious attack," he said. And that was true. They hadn't really been trying to kill him. "Two guys with knives, against _me?_ They were just making it clear that I'm Tal-Vashoth… Tal-va-fucking-shoth." Bull sighed.

"Is it really that different from what you've already been?" she asked, and despite his reassurances, she was examining the wound, frowning as she gingerly prodded at his skin above it.

"That was just a role. This is my life, as one of those…" He shook his head, growling. "I killed hundreds of Tal-Vashoth in Seheron. Bandits, murderers, bastards who had turned their backs on the Qun. And now I have, too. I'm one of _them."_

"You're _not_ a bandit or a murderer. You never have been, and you never could be."

"But without the Qun to live by--"

"All you've gotten from the Qun in years is a few letters back and forth. That's not any kind of guidance. You don't need them to tell you what's right and wrong."

"Dammit, I let a hundred people on that dreadnought die!"

"You learn to do magic when I wasn't looking? Because where I was standing, I saw that dreadnought destroyed by magefire, not your axe." She poked him in the center of his chest, her tone sharp, but her meaning gentle. "You didn't kill them. The Venatori did."

"They wouldn't have been there if we hadn't signalled that it was safe to come in close to shore."

"When we signalled, it was!"

"And then I chose a handful over a hundred. If that's the kind of choice I make without the Qun to guide me--"

"Fuck the Qun! The Qun may have raised you, but they didn't make you a good man. That's _you_. That's just who you are." Melora grabbed hold of the strap of his harness where it lay across his chest, dragging him down to her height to look him in the eye. Her expression softened, and she framed his face with her palms, stroking her fingers over his cheeks affectionately, "You may like the idea, but you are _not_ a mindless weapon. Your mind is your greatest weapon, your greatest strength. You are _amazing,_ and those fools threw you away. They may not see your value, but I do. I see you, my Iron Bull. I know you. This doesn't change who you are. Because you are still the best person I have ever known, and I--"

Bull looked into her eyes as she spoke, and the pain of the knife wound was nothing compared to the way her words cut him. He ripped from her grasp with a growl and turned away, unable to bear her gaze.

His shoulders slumped, and he covered his face with his hands, shaking his head. "Ahhh, fuck, _"_ he rasped, unable to hold this back any longer. "It was a setup from the start."

"W-what?"

"The whole fucking dreadnought mission. I knew it felt weird from the start, the way they wanted just me, you, and the Chargers. And an alliance… you said it yourself. The Qun doesn't do alliances." His nostrils flared and he clenched his hand into a fist, the truth spilling from his lips in a horrible torrent. "They told me to bring you, so I brought you. I didn't know what was going to happen, but I knew it had to be more than they were saying. And then we got there and it was Gatt, and… I should have called off the whole thing right there, gotten us all out of there, but I didn't. I didn't think they'd--"

"Stop talking." From behind him, Melora's voice sounded so small.

Bull turned to look at her, and she had her hands over her ears, hunching her shoulders and shaking her head slowly.

"I don't want to hear this," she said, his meaning beginning to dawn on her.

But he had to tell her. "They sent Gatt. He was with me in Seheron. He was there for… He was on my team. And he was a friend. He knew me really, really well. So for them to send _him_. They were trying to get to me. To throw me off, remind me of all the shit I'd been fighting for, all those years I'd put in. They wanted to get under my skin, and it worked."

His throat bobbed against the painful ache forcing its way up through his guts. "The intelligence we were given about the beach, about the places we needed to take position… it came from Gatt. He knew if he said one was easier, I'd put the Chargers there. He even _laughed_ about it. He knew the Venatori would be heavier closer to the beach, so he made it sound easier, knew I'd take the hard job myself. He knew, and he played me. I should have seen it sooner."

"I knew there was _something_ strange about him, the way he seemed to sneer at you and the way you reacted to him, but I thought it was just… old history, bad blood, something… I never thought…" The weight of what he was saying seemed to hit her all at once, and she took a few steps back, staring up at him in disbelief. "You knew something was wrong, and you didn't say. You knew from the very start, when you got the letter."

Reluctantly, Bull nodded. "I didn't know exactly. I had no proof. But it stank like week old fish."

"Then _why?_ Why would you have us do it anyway?"

"I was following orders." Bull looked down at his feet, stricken with shame.

Melora's lips were trembling, and she looked away from him, out over the mountains. It was still somehow a very beautiful day, as if nature itself sought to mock them. The sky was clear and cloudless and so very blue overhead. "Following orders," she repeated, as if she couldn't believe what he was confessing.

"They wanted to test my loyalty. That was part of it from the very beginning, even if I couldn't see it. Gatt almost said as much when we were heading up the cliff. I was so focused on keeping you safe, I didn't realize exactly what they were doing until it was too late."

"Me?" He could barely hear her now, and there were tears welling in her eyes. "What do you mean, keeping me safe?"

Bull looked up at the sky, as if he might find the way to say this… With a growl, he said it anyway. "I thought they might… it might be about you. That they might want to… take you. Or kill you."

Her chest heaved and she couldn't speak now, covering her mouth with one hand, shaking her head in horror.

He took a step toward her, trying to explain, trying to make her understand. "I wasn't going to let them," he insisted. "I swear. I never let you out of my sight. I would not have let them hurt you, ever."

"How could you protect me, if they'd wanted to kill me?" she demanded, backing away from him. "They know you, know what you can do."

"I don't know, I'd have… They were _not_ going to hurt you. And in the end that wasn't what they wanted to do, anyway."

"Then what _did_ they want?"

"It was a test. Not just of my loyalty, but… For you. They know about… _us._ I'm not the only Ben-Hassrath spy in Ferelden. But they've tolerated it, because it's meant they've got an operative close to the Inquisitor. So why not test just how far you'd go for me? Would you throw away a powerful alliance for me?"

Melora's eyes darted, trying to think through what he was saying. "But… but I didn't. I left the choice to you. And even if I didn't, if I called the retreat myself, what good is that to them? You'd still be Tal-Vashoth, wouldn't you?"

Bull gave a slow nod.

"And they would have still sent those assassins?"

He nodded again.

"So… I don't understand."

Bull lifted his head to look her in the eye. "They weren't really assassins. Or… they were a way to give me an easy out, if I wanted it. And if not, they were…" His lips twitched as he paused, and then said, "They were a signal."

"For what?"

"They were saying that they weren't really done with me. If they were, they'd have sent someone competent, and I'd be dead right now. You just said it yourself. They know what I can do. Those two… they were a message. I'm outside the Qun. No longer Ben-Hassrath. Tal-Vashoth. But… one day, they will call on me, and I will be expected to answer the call. And in doing so, I may redeem myself to the Qun."

"Redeem yourself… how?"

"I dunno. They wouldn't tell me ahead of time, wouldn't be any contact before then. They now how far you're willing to go for me. That you trust me with tactical decisions. How close we are. And that you're willing to sacrifice an alliance for me. They also know that I brought you there, even though I had to have known something was off." He looked away from her as he said, "I expect they'll want me to kill you."

"Will you do it? When they call on you, will you kill me?"

He looked at her, horrified that she'd even asked. "No! Fuck no!"

"Why not, if it could get you back what you'd lost?"

"Because it's _you!_ How can you even ask me that?"

"You led me, Cassandra, Varric, Krem, and the rest of the Chargers into a mission that you were unsure about, and then knew was a setup, and didn't tell anyone. You let us go into it blind. I don't…" She faltered, and she dug her fingernails into her palms, trying to keep herself together. "I _trusted_ you. I listened to your counsel. I asked for your advice. You had the chance to come clean then, and you didn't. You laughed and drank and sang with the Chargers on the way back, and I asked you to talk to me, and you didn't. You called me to meet you up here for… for what? To see this half-assed assassination attempt? Why?"

"I didn't know if they'd be competent or not. I really did think I might need backup. I've never lied to you."

Her eyes flared wider with a sudden rush of anger. "Bullshit! You told me we should go on the mission!"

"I didn't. I said it was an attractive offer worth considering. That's not saying we should, but that you should look at it critically. I didn't--"

"Are you fucking serious? You're trying to get out of this on a _technicality?_ Oh, Maker…" Melora ran her hands back through her hair and leaned back against the wall. She sniffed hard, pressing her lips together until they stopped trembling. " _Why did you tell me?_ You could have kept all of this to yourself. I'd never have known."

"Yes, I could have. But I didn't. I wanted you to know the truth."

"And do you feel better now that you've come clean? Like a weight's been lifted from your shoulders, hm? I hope it feels good, because, hey, at least one of us can feel good about this whole thing, right? Because I think I'm going to be sick."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She lifted the dragon's tooth from where it hung on her chest, holding it in her palm to look at it as she asked, "Why come clean now, _Hissrad?_ "

He winced, and said softly, "Because… I need you to know. You said you know me, but you don't. You said I'm a good man, but I'm not. I _want_ you to know me. You deserve to know who I really am. Because if I'm going to be Tal-Vashoth, to see my reflection in your eyes every day, I can't build this new life on any more lies. I owe you that much. The truth. Even if it means you hate me. I would rather have you hate me for the truth than to… to love me for the lies. Because I am so in love with you, _kadan."_

She gave a soft, anguished cry, and buried her face against her knees, and her body shook as she fought to keep from sobbing. Bull slumped against the wall, not wanting to watch her, but unable to look away. "I would have given anything," she breathed fighting back tears, seemingly unwilling to let him see her cry. And when she raised her gaze to him, there it was: the hate he'd been expecting, beginning to ignite within her eyes. " _Anything,_ to hear you say that… before. But now? _Now?_ After you tell me _this?"_

Melora paused then, swallowing back the tears that still threatened to fall. "If this is what you do to someone you love, I don't want your traitorous love. I don't know who you are. I don't even know who those words are coming from… the Iron Bull, or the Ben-Hassrath? Oh, Maker… everyone tried to warn me… Varric, Cullen… shit, even you. You said it from the start, didn't you? Get close to the Inquisition's leaders, spy on us, send back reports to the Qun. It was right there in front of me this whole time, and I just didn't want to see. And you… you came to me the night I was made Inquisitor. Oh, of course. I suppose now I know the real reason why."

"No, _no_ , it wasn't like that. It was never like that."

She didn't seem to be listening now, hugging her arms to her chest, tendrils of hair falling across her face lifted by the breeze. "I was so… dazzled by you, I didn't want to see the truth."

"No. This, you and me, it was never about orders. I came to you the night after you were made Inquisitor because you needed me. You were so close to breaking--"

Melora pressed her lips together tight, holding her breath to keep the tears from falling, and her voice shook as she spat, "Oh, fuck that tired old tune. I trusted you! I gave you everything! Everything, all that I have, all that I am that hadn't already been claimed by this… thing…" She clenched her hand into a fist, her mark crackling. "I gave the choice to you. And you… you chose to let the dreadnought be destroyed. To save the Chargers even though it meant that you could never return to the Qun. You chose to tell me this. You must have known what that would mean. For us."

Bull gave a solemn nod. "I want to be that good man you saw when you looked at me. But I never could be if I didn't tell you the truth."

She was quiet then for what felt like forever, looking unseeing out at the mountains and the clear blue sky before she asked, "They would kill you if I sent you away, wouldn't they? If you're not… here, in the Inquisition… with me, you're no use to them."

"They'd send someone who knows what they're doing, yeah. Or several someones, till one of 'em gets the job done."

She thought about this too. "Even if they didn't, I'd be turning a known spy with detailed information about the Inquisition out to do… who knows what." Looking up at a flock of passing birds, then, Melora blinked against the brightness of the sky. "I can't even tell anyone. Secrets can never be kept forever. And you've twined yourself through my life so completely, haven't you? You're my bodyguard, my advisor, my lover, my Right Hand, and you sit on my war council."

"What are you saying?"

"I can't have you executed for treason. I can't banish you. Maker, I can't do _anything,_ can I? Because if this gets out… It would ruin me. It would ruin the Inquisition." She rubbed at her eyes, looking suddenly more exhausted than he'd ever seen her. "So as far as anyone else is concerned, this conversation never happened. Business as usual. You are still good with an axe, and I still need a bodyguard."

"Wait, that's it?" He blinked, confused. He couldn't allow himself to hope… could he? "We just go on like nothing happened?"

"The Ben-Hassrath have made it clear they can get assassins into Skyhold if they wish. Seeing as I have no other Ben-Hassrath trained agents who can identify them, to make sure they don't send them after me, too… Either way, I suppose if they decide I need to die, they'll find a way. So I'd rather that if someone's going to kill me, it's you. Just… stab me in the back, will you? I don't want to see it coming."

" _Kadan_ , I'd never--"

She cut him off sharply. "No. You can use that word in front of others, to keep up the illusion that you give a shit about me. But when we're alone, you will call me Inquisitor. Because that is who I am. Who I must be, before anything else. I was a fool to forget that. It was only because of… how I felt about you, that I gave you the choice on that cliff. If I had been thinking like a leader and not a damned lovesick fool, I would have chosen the alliance. It would have been the better choice for the Inquisition, and it would have been the wrong one, because you were hiding things from me."

She pushed herself back up to stand. "I thought I could separate the parts of me and keep a part that was just mine, and yours. But I can't. I am... compromised by my feelings for you. And with so much depending on me… I can't afford to make mistakes like that." Her voice cracked, and she sucked in a sharp breath between her lips. "I don't know how to cut you out of my heart, but I have to."

"I don't-- when you said business as usual, I thought--"

"You thought there was any chance of this… what, just blowing over? Of _forgiving you?_ No. But you've taught me enough I can probably manage to fake a smile. And I'm quite certain you can convincingly pretend to like me." She spat the words with venom at him.

" _Kadan,_ I--"

" _Inquisitor."_

"Inquisitor," he said through gritted teeth, trying to keep his composure but feeling like he was falling apart. "If I can just explain, just let me--"

"You've explained enough. But there's no coming back from this."

Bull opened his hands to her, begging for her forgiveness. "Don't go. Just--"

Melora stumbled as she backed away from him, stepping on the arm of the dead man with the dagger in his neck. " _Katoh,"_ she whispered, and the tears started to fall down her cheeks. She turned and fled.

"Come back, please! Don't--" Bull called after her, trying to follow.

But with a stroke of her arms, with a sound like the crack of a whip, Melora threw up a barrier of ice covering the full width of the wall between them, its craggy surface bristling with sharp crystals that gleamed in the bright sunlight.

From the other side, Bull watched her go, her hair streaming out behind her as she ran away from him as fast as she could.

Bull crumpled against the wall, his head in his hands.

_He'd lost her._

_He'd lost everything._


	30. Chapter 30

"Two assassins with poisoned blades infiltrated Skyhold, and got within striking distance of the Inquisitor. They wounded her Right Hand! And those guards were as vetted as they come! I had a genuine letter of recomendation from Duke de Freyen for those two!" Cullen said, blustering from the opposite side of the war table. Melora swore the fur shawl he wore seemed to puff up the louder he got.

"What else could I have done?" Leliana asked, eyes narrowed.

"Spycraft is your domain. Perhaps you can… I don't know, investigate the troops more?"

"You want me to pry into the life of every soldier under your command?" Leliana raised both eyebrows, her expression almost amused.

"Well, when you say it like that it sounds absurd!" Cullen grumbled. "But the problem remains. We are vulnerable! The Inquisitor is vulnerable."

"And if it weren't for Bull recognizing them," Josephine said, shaking her head. "It's unthinkable!"

"You all do remember you send me out to fight demons and giant spiders and bandits and bears, all the time, right?" Melora asked quietly.

None of them seemed to hear her, and Cullen and Leliana were ignoring the rest of them entirely, though from behind her Melora heard the softest snort of a laugh from Bull.

Melora picked up the huge tome, the Inquisition's charter from the Divine, and dropped it onto the war table's surface with a _boom_ that echoed in the stone room.

With all eyes on her, she looked around and said, "I offer a simple solution. My Right Hand should be present with me at all times, both within and outside of Skyhold."

Cullen raised his eyebrows, considering this, and Leliana began nodding.

"I doubt anyone would notice anything's changed," Josephine said, smiling at Melora. "You two spend most of your time together already."

"Exactly," Melora said, returning Josephine's smile.

"Well, it's settled, then," Cullen said. "Bull, you'll look after the Inquisitor more closely from now on. Even if those assassins weren't targeting her specifically, the next ones might be. Her survival is essential."

"Understood." Bull nodded to Cullen before he looked down at Melora. "That was too close. I'll make sure she's safe. Not gonna let there be any chance of her getting hurt again."

Bull and Melora shared a warm, pleasant look between them, and Bull's hand settled on her shoulder with a gentle squeeze. 

She had to force herself not to flinch at that touch. She had learned to watch his wording carefully, pulling the layers of meaning from everything Bull said. But even as her thoughts churned, Melora remained aware of herself, trying to project an air of interest and concern, listening to Cullen and Leliana debating the best methods to increase security at Skyhold.

They'd gone on for several minutes before Cullen turned to Bull. "So, what do you think? You know Ben-Hassrath methods. What are we missing?"

Melora looked up at Bull, trying not to look as curious as she was about how he'd respond. He had to be present in the war council to avoid suspicion, but she had instructed him to be careful not to make any recommendations, or pry for any information. "Sounds like you've got all the angles covered," Bull said.

Cullen raised an eyebrow. "You have no opinion? Usually you can't wait to point out something I've missed."

Bull shrugged. "I think you've been very thorough."

"Hmm," Cullen gave a little nod, looking sort of pleased with himself. "Well then, excellent."

When the meeting of the war council had concluded, and Cullen and Bull were chatting about shield technique, Josephine came up beside Melora and said softly, "It's good to see you happy."

"Hm?" Melora's mind had been elsewhere.

"I know all of this has been so hard for you, and there is still so much to do. But in the middle of all this, you've managed to carve out a bit of happiness for yourself. You and Bull are so sweetly smitten with each other. The way he looks at you…" Josephine sighed dreamily. "And always by your side to keep you safe. Oh, it is terribly romantic, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is," Melora said, forcing herself to smile.

"I am so very happy for you," Josephine said. "You deserve it. Truly."

"Thank you," Melora said warmly, even as her face ached with the effort of swallowing back tears.

~*~

_"Please, don't make me do this," she whimpers, and the bridge ahead of her is stone, but it's swaying in the wind, snow blowing past it sideways. She's cold, shivering so hard she can barely stand._

_"I'm not making you do anything," Bull says, and when she looks down, she sees her hand in his, held tight. He's got his fingers laced between hers, and it hurts, the way he's squeezing her. He gives her a warm, reassuring smile, but his skin on hers is cold. "You've chosen all of this. And we're gonna do this together."_

_"Where are you taking me?"_

_There's no reply, and Bull pulls her by the hand with him, dragging her toward the bridge. Her feet are skidding on the icy stone, and she's trying to pry his fingers away, but Maker, he's so strong, and she's caught in his grasp like an animal in a trap._

_She claws at his arm, but even with her nails shredding his skin, his blood dripping into the snow, he's still smiling that same cheerful, unconcerned smile. Her heart's pounding now, and she's so scared she thinks it might burst. She screams, tries to kick at him, but he just laughs it off, like she's playing._

_"Let go!" she cries._

_"Never," he chuckles, and the sound is so relaxed, not at all sinister… which somehow makes it worse._

_"Please…"_

_"Open your eyes," he says, and even in her fear she's confused. Her eyes_ are _open. "You're alright. You're safe." But she knows she's not._

_They're halfway across and she can feel the bridge moving under her feet, the stone soft like walking on a mattress. Her knees buckle in mortal fear, but he pulls her along anyway like she weighs nothing at all._

_She can see the end of the bridge. It just… stops. And beyond there is nothing. Only blowing snow._

_Bull drags her to the edge and she's skidding and still fighting. It's hopeless but she can't go down without a fight. "I've got you, and I'm not letting go," he says, soft and slow and patient._

_She grabs onto his wrist with her other hand and twists, feeling the friction beneath her palm and turning it into a searing brand._

_"Ah, fuck!" he yelps, and the bridge shudders beneath her. His grip falters… but it's too late. He just has to knock her off her feet._

_She's falling, and she's looking up at his face framed against the black sky. He almost looks sad._

_She can feel the ground rising up behind her._

 

Soaked in sweat, Melora awoke still fighting, fists and feet lashing out against the blankets tangled around her. Eyes open now, _really open,_ she saw the curtains drawn over windows still dark beyond, the walls lit with flickering flame. She scrambled upright, still gasping for breath, still terrified.

In the hearth, the fire roared, burning so brightly it hurt her eyes to look at it. Across the floor in a fan around the hearth, flecks of smoldering embers and ash, sprayed from the fire, lay glowing on the stone and the carpet.

"Hey," said Bull softly, and Melora jumped at the sound of his voice. He knelt there at the side of the bed, looking down at her with a frown.

"Wha--"

"You were screaming again," he explained. "I tried to wake you up, and you gave me this…"

He lifted his arm to show her his wrist, ringed partway around with red, a burn mark in the shape of her own palm and fingers.

_Open your eyes._

She said nothing, hugging her knees, shivering.

Bull took a deep breath. "You alright?"

The shake of her head was near-frantic.

"That's the third time in two days," he said, getting to his feet, his muscles stiff from sleeping on the floor. He used the fireplace poker to flick the bits of smoldering coals off the rug and onto the stone where they'd burn out harmlessly. The wool burned no further, but the rug was covered in burn marks. Not all of them were new.

Melora reached out a hand toward the flames, and pressed them back. She pulled, too, all of the heat from the coals spilled on the floor. The little orange specks of light winked out all together.

Bull put the poker back. "You should talk to someone. Dorian or Vivienne, maybe. They might be able to help with the magic part, at least. Or Solas, with the dreams."

"I can't say anything to anyone."

"You don't think you can trust them?"

Melora just looked at him, eyes rimmed in red. She didn't need to say it. 

She couldn't trust anyone.

"You keep doing that and it happens at camp, Cassandra's gonna notice. She seems alright with you, but she's not particularly fond of out-of-control apostates."

"I don't need your advice. Or you trying to poison me against Cassandra."

Bull blinked and spluttered. "What? I wasn't--"

"I don't care. I don't want your opinion."

"I'm just supposed to stand around and shut up? You want me around so you can watch me, but I can't even talk to you?"

"I know the power of words. The right words in the right order can kill, and they don't even have to come from the lips of a mage to do it. And I know the power of _your_ words. You wield them like knives."

"So you're gonna… what, keep me like a pet now? Make me sleep on the rug, put me on a short leash, give me a muzzle?"

"Consider yourself a prisoner. For your acts of treason."

"That what we're calling it, then?" He sucked at his teeth. "And how long am I expected to serve this sentence?"

"Until the Inquisition and the Inquisitor are no longer relevant. Or until one of us dies."

Bull pursed his lips, looking at her for a long moment before asking, "If I am the traitor you think I am, what makes you think I'm really gonna go for this kind of arrangement? And why would _you?"_

Melora sniffled and pulled the blankets closer around her. "Well, I can't be certain about any of it, can I? I have to assume all possibilities are true, and weigh my options accordingly. If you are still an agent of the Qun, here to influence me or to spy on the Inquisition, I should have you imprisoned, or executed. But I can't do that openly, and if I do it quietly, I can't be sure it won't be traced back to me, which would be worse than if it were just exposed outright. If you're going to kill me, I shouldn't keep you close at all, but again, anything I do to remove you would raise too many questions I don't wish to answer. But in the mean time, I can continue closing rifts and killing bandits until you decide it's time for me to die. Though I don't know why you would have confessed to… that… if you planned to work against me. I thought perhaps it was a ruse to make me think you'd left the Qun, to gain my trust. But that doesn't make any sense. Because even knowing you were a spy, I already trusted you completely. You could not gain my trust when you already had all of it."

Bull listened in stoic silence.

"Or," she went on. "It's possible you were the Qun's agent up until that mission, and then betrayed them, in which case it is in your best interests to remain with the Inquisition or risk being disposed of by the Ben-Hassrath. Or… you didn't know whose side you really were on until the dreadnought, and you chose then, and came clean when it was clear you'd have to live with it. Still better defenses with the Inquisition than outside of it, for you. Or… maybe you really did mean what you said. And you'll do this because... I'm asking you to."

She didn't say anything more then, until finally, she finished quietly, "It doesn't matter which option is true. They all are true. And they're all untrue. Because they all have the same conclusion. I keep you close, make sure you're not sending along information to the Qun, and keep up appearances. Anything else I could do would risk exposing… everything. It still does, but I have no other option."

"You're forgetting one."

She waited for him to explain.

"If I were to die in battle, you'd be rid of me without any scandal. Might even gain some popularity, from sympathy. Go dramatic enough and the bards'd do great things with it." He presented the idea so casually, as if he were offering an option of what to have for lunch.

Melora took a deep breath, and merely nodded. "I suppose that's one, too. But not something I can influence without the possibility of being caught, so… irrelevant. And I do still need a bodyguard."

"Very logical."

She gave him a stony look. "I'm just doing what you taught me."

"You know, if I am here to spy or assassinate you, you'd be better off exposing it all yourself. Sure, you'd tank your reputation, and maybe they'd remove you as Inquisitor, but you'd still be alive, still able to close rifts. And you could do it how you want, spin it how you want. Getting out ahead of it is a better option than letting it come out without control over it." Bull eyed her with a sidelong glance. "That'd be the smarter solution, if you truly think I'm still a danger to you."

Melora glared at him. The smug bastard, as if she didn't see what he was doing. "Ah, yes," she said, lilting with sarcasm. "A marvelous idea! I'll run out and tell everyone how my closest advisor is a spy for the Qun, and how I knew it all along, and was led on a fake mission that put key members of the Inquisition in danger… including the Inquisitor herself. _Myself._ Whatever. And how I didn't say anything when I found out because it would make me look bad. Sure, yes, let's put that in a pamphlet, hand it out across Thedas. Won't weaken the Inquisition or put us at risk of losing this conflict at all. And it definitely isn't exactly what a spy for the Qun would encourage me to do. Don't even need to raise a knife to end the Inquisition, and Inquisitor, if you can just get her to fall on her own knife and do it for you."

Bull sighed and rolled a defeated shrug. What was he supposed to say to that?

She watched him out of the corner of her eye, hugging her knees. However much she didn't want to entertain the idea, especially one that came from him... if she _did_ truly think he was dangerous, keeping him close to avoid scandal was foolish at best.

So why _was_ he still here instead of the dungeon?

With a sigh, Melora said, "Give me your hand."

"What?"

"Your wrist. I burned you. Let me see it."

"You don't have to-- It's fine. It'll heal."

She sighed and just put out her hand, waiting until, with a huff, Bull held his arm out to her.

"Sit down," she said, and he didn't bother protesting, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed.

Cooling her palms, Melora reached out and took Bull's wrist in her hands. She concentrated on pulling the heat from his reddened flesh, trying not to think about how close he was, and how normal and familiar it felt to be sitting here alone in her room with him. But their circumstances now were anything but normal. And her heart was still beating fast from that dream.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, flicking her gaze up to his face for only a moment. He was watching her, not her hands. Melora shifted the spell toward healing, soothing the burn in his skin. Healing had never been one of her particular talents, but she could at least take the pain from the wound.

"Like I said, it's fine. Shouldn't have gotten so close."

A frown flickered over her brow. Melora released his hand, and he pulled his arm back, flexing his wrist.

"Better. Thanks."

She gave him a little nod.

"You gonna try to go back to sleep?" Bull asked.

"I don't think I can," she said. "I think I'll just read and knit till it's light out."

"Alright." He got up off the bed, laying back down on the rug with his back to her and he pulled the spare blanket up over himself.

Melora lit the lamp beside the bed and picked up the book laying on the table, opening it to the marked page. It was an ancient dry tome on the nature of the Fade, recommended to her by Solas. Her eyes traced the words, but she didn't read them.

After a few minutes, she said softly, "Bull?"

"Yeah?"

"Sleeping on the floor makes your aches worse, doesn't it?"

He rolled over to look at her. "Yeah."

She chewed at her lip and then said, "You could… I mean… this is a very large bed."

Bull sat halfway up. "It is, but… no."

"It can't be comfortable to sleep on the floor."

"It's not. But I'll manage."

Melora pressed her lips together, and hesitantly, she asked, "Why?"

"Why'm I saying no?"

She nodded.

"Because... this crap's hard enough as it is. Gonna have to share a tent when we leave here anyway. And because…" He took a deep breath. "You don't really want me there. You feel bad for me hurting, even though it's not your problem. So you're offering, because you think it's easier for you to hurt than to see someone else in pain. But I don't want to share your bed out of pity. So I'm good down here."

Melora nodded and settled back against the pillow with her book. "I suppose you still have me all figured out."

Bull pressed his lips together and said nothing. After a pause, he laid back down and said, "Goodnight, Inquisitor."

Without looking or thinking, Melora's fingers added stitch after stitch, one by one, to the scarf she was knitting. She didn't turn the page of the book once.

Listening to the sound of his breathing go slow, she watched Bull sleep until morning came.

~*~

_You have walked beside me down the paths where a thousand arrows sought my flesh._

On Drakonday, there was only one voice in the chapel. Dark circles beneath her eyes, Andraste's Herald looked wearily up into the stone face of the Lady and sang, her voice unsteady and soft. She was not alone in the chapel, though her bodyguard did not sing. He stood near the door, arms crossed over his chest, and watched her.

_You have stood with me when all others have forsaken me._

On Wardensday, there came a handful more gathering in the chapel. They had come to see the Herald, so they would have a nice story for the grandkids one day about the time they saw the Herald of Andraste herself singing the Chant. But there was something strange, something otherworldly and compelling about seeing the tiny woman kneeling with her legs folded beneath her on the cold stone floor, and in hearing the Chant of Light intoned with all the conviction of a Chantry choir, concentrated into one trembling and small voice, one broken heart poured into every word. And the Herald's voice grew stronger, though her face was still drawn and pale.

 _I have faced armies with you as my shield,_

On Firesday, the chapel was filled with the subtle harmonies of many voices. Bodies pressed into the room, spilling out into the colonnade and into the garden. And still the Herald sat at Andraste's feet, her voice now one of many. 

_And though I bear scars beyond counting, nothing can break me except your absence._

On Makersday, even the garden was filled, people sitting clustered in twos and threes on the grass, more than a hundred voices led by one small voice, raising their hymn to the Maker. The very walls of Skyhold reverberated with the Canticle of Trials, stronghold and song united.

And when the singing had concluded, and the courtyard emptied, the Herald and her bodyguard were always the last two to leave.

Today, Varric was waiting for them, leaning against one of the columns in the shade.

"You keep this up," Varric said with a smile, stepping up alongside Melora as she walked out into the garden, "They're gonna try to make you into a Chantry sister."

"Or Divine," Melora replied, smirking.

Varric raised both eyebrows and then shrugged. "A mage as Divine. Well, stranger things have happened. Did you know, Cullen told me half the army has been requesting permission to come up to the chapel in the mornings?"

"That must annoy him. I'm sure he has drills planned or something."

"Actually, no, he's delighted. Says he's never seen a group of troops so devout. He's setting up a rota so anyone who wants to come will have a turn. He was here today himself, right at the back, hoping nobody would see him. Sang along, too."

"I'm sure you didn't hang back just to tell me what Cullen's been getting up to." Melora said.

"Well, everyone acting all inspirational got me to thinking, so I got in contact with an old friend. She's crossed paths with Corypheus before, and knows more about what he's been up to."

"Oh?"

Varric nodded. "I asked her to come to Skyhold to talk to you."

"Alright. If she's here already, we can talk in the main hall."

"Uh, well, parading around might cause a fuss. It's better for you to meet quietly. On the battlements."

Melora frowned, hesitating. She didn't like meetings on the battlements.

"Trust me," Varric said. "It's complicated."

She didn't know if she could trust anyone anymore, but she carried her daggers with her everywhere now, and she followed Varric up to the top of the wall. 

Melora didn't look back to see if Bull was following. She knew he was, and she knew, too, that as they passed it, they both were trying not to look at the dark stain on the stone that the cleaners hadn't been able to completely scrub away.

Leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest, a tall, dark-haired woman in armor smirked at Varric.

Varric turned to Melora with a slightly sheepish smile. "Inquisitor," he said with grandiose formality, "Meet Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall."

"You know I hate that title," Hawke said. A crimson scar streaked from one smiling cheek to the other across the bridge of Hawke's nose.

"Hawke, the Inquisitor," said Varric. "Though she hates that title, too."

Of all the things to spring on her! Meeting Hawke, _the Hawke..._ Everyone in the Marches had heard of Hawke, her deeds and misdeeds in Kirkwall legendary. "I'm not sure if I should thank you or hit you," said Melora, jabbing at Varric with her elbow..

"I get that a lot," replied Varric with a grin, and he wandered off to where Bull stood waiting to strike up a chat, too far out of earshot to hear more than indistinct voices.

Melora turned to Hawke, looking up at the woman with more than a little awe. 

"You… you really are her, aren't you?" Melora asked.

"Unfortunately, yes," said Hawke with a nod. "And you really are the Inquisitor."

"Unfortunately, yes. But, um, please. Just call me Melora."

"For the news I come with… I think I'd best stick with the title, at least for the moment, Inquisitor."

"That sounds… ominous."

Hawke sighed and shrugged, scratching at her ear. "Well. Yes. Ah, I'm sure Varric's mentioned that we've had dealings with Corypheus before. The Grey Wardens were holding him, and he somehow used his connection to the darkspawn to influence them. Corypheus got into their heads, turned them against each other. I fought him, and I killed him. But I guess it didn't stick. Maybe his tie to the blight somehow brought him back."

Hawke paused, shifting her weight from foot to foot, and then continued, "So, here's where bad goes to shittier… I know the Wardens all started acting strangely, and then disappeared. My brother's a Warden and I, ah, had him sent away. Once I was sure he was safe, I reached out to a friend in the Wardens, a moustache with a man behind it named Stroud. The man's named Stroud, I mean. I don't know if he's named his moustache. Anyway. He'd been worried about corruption in the Warden ranks, and then… nothing. No word from him for months. I went looking for him, and eventually tracked him down hiding out in a cave in Crestwood. Turns out the Wardens have all been hearing the Calling. Corypheus is mimicking it somehow. The Wardens all think they're dying. And if they all go, the next Blight… everything's doomed. So their Warden-Commander has decided the best way to deal with it is to stop the Blights once and for all, by raising a demon army and marching it down to the Deep Roads to kill all the Old Gods before they can awaken."

"Wait, _what?_ How do you have all this information? _"_

"Through Stroud. He voiced his protests with the plan, and the other Wardens turned on him. He barely made it out alive, and they've been trying to track him down."

"Oh, I was wondering when the demon army would show up. Looks like it's today. Great."

"You _knew_ about it?"

Melora shook her head, shrugging helplessly. "Yes and no? Um, sort of? I didn't know where it was coming from, just that Corypheus would have one. There was a… um, time travel thing… Long story."

Hawke stared for a moment, blinking. "Riiiight. Well. He's getting it from the Wardens, by way of the Venatori. As you might have guessed, they're not planning on really marching down to the Deep Roads, but across all of Thedas."

"How are the Wardens supposed to raise a whole army of demons?"

"There are quite a lot of Warden mages. Before the Circles rebelled, it was one of the few ways mages could live outside a Circle and not be considered apostates. And how better to raise a demon army but with blood magic? The ritual they use raises a demon, and binds the mage to Corypheus. Two for one."

Melora was the one staring now. "What about the other Wardens? They can't all be mages."

"Where do you think they're getting the blood from?" Hawke's face was grim. "Those that aren't being sacrificed remain loyal to the Warden-Commander. They think they're trying to save the world from Blights forever. I suppose they believe those lives are a price worth paying, to save everyone else."

"A tactical decision, they think," Melora sighed. "It's still blood magic and human sacrifice, though."

"Didn't say it was a _good_ decision. They can justify it to themselves however they like, but in their fear, they've made themselves puppets to Corypheus, so probably not the best idea, really."

Melora crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the wall. "So what's our next move, then?"

"All the Warden activity in the Western Approach is centered on Adamant Fortress. It's an old Warden base, perfect spot to raise a demon army. Stroud's there now, keeping an eye on things, but it doesn't look good. The faster they're dealt with, the better."

"They're holed up in a fortress?"

Hawke nodded. "You've got your own army, right? The non-demon kind."

Melora's eyes went wide. "Well, yes, but--"

"And trebuchets?"

"Wha--? I mean, yes, we've got--"

"Excellent!" Hawke clapped delightedly. "I had to do everything with a handful of assorted degenerates. An army! What luxury!"

Melora gaped. "You're proposing the Inquisition attack the Grey Wardens in their own fortress?"

"The Grey Wardens, _and_ their demon army." Hawke nodded.

Melora just stood there blinking. "Al...right. Um. We're really going to have to talk to Cullen."

"Oh! Cullen! Templar bloke, stick up his ass and a head like a bowl of noodles?"

Melora snickered. "The same."

"Varric mentioned he was running the military side of things. Must be doing a decent job, because you've been making remarkable progress. Everyone's talking about the Inquisition, and the Inquisitor."

"What have you heard?" Melora asked warily.

Hawke laughed, a pleasant sound. There was something charmingly unflappable about her. "Varric's been very flattering in his letters, don't worry. Colourful, of course, but he thinks very highly of you. I was a little surprised, actually. Varric isn't one for religion in general, but here he is, rallied to your cause. To… all of this. He was always behind me in Kirkwall, but that was as much about his love for that shitheap they call a town as it was anything. But he really seems to believe in you. Or maybe it's just because you're trying to save the world, and Kirkwall's in it." Hawke grinned at Melora. "As for everyone else… Well, they're unsure what to think, but they're also afraid. The Circles falling, the Templars and mages clashing, the Wardens disappearing so soon after the last Blight… And then the Divine, the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the rifts… The Inquisition is trying to bring stability. And it seems to be working. You're making progress, at least, which is more than anyone else can say. People appreciate that."

"You're being very tactful. Too tactful," Melora said with a smirk.

Hawke chuckled, nodding amiably. "Well, it is true. Of course, people will always have _something_ negative to say. The religious aspect complicates things, too. And the political one. I suspect you haven't had a very easy time of it."

"That's one way of putting it," Melora said ruefully. "But I'm still breathing. Still fighting. That's what matters."

"It's not _all_ that matters," Hawke said, her voice going soft, and she hesitated a moment before saying, "Look, Melora, I know we just met. But I recognize the look of someone with the weight of the world on her shoulders. And I just had a city, not _every_ city."

"Is it that obvious?"

Hawke gave Melora a reassuring smile. "Only to someone who's sort of been there. Just… take care of yourself. People will try to make you larger than life, a title and a symbol and not a person. It's easy to start believing it yourself. And I don't mean feeling bigger than you are, but the opposite, letting yourself get lost in the role, making yourself smaller because it's so big on its own, you don't think there's anywhere left for _you_ to fit. Someone doesn't get as far as you do without a sense of drive and duty, but if you rely on it too much, it'll roll right over you, too, and you'll be crushed beneath it. I almost was."

Melora frowned, looking down at her hands. "So… How did you get through it?"

"My friends. My family. I remembered I didn't have to do it all alone. That there weren't just people relying on me, but people who cared about me, too. I thought leaning on them would make me weak. But I wouldn't have gotten through it without them."

"Didn't one of your closest friends blow up the Kirkwall Chantry?"

"Well. Yes. But almost all of my friends _didn't_ blow up the Chantry, and that counts for something, I suppose." Hawke shrugged. "I had a lot of people around me who kept me sane. Varric was one of them. I don't think I could've gotten through it without him. He cares about you, and you'll find no better friend than that pain-in-the-ass dwarf. And I know you have others here. You've got a brilliant war council. And I hear you've appointed a Right Hand."

Melora gave a terse nod. "I've got people, yes."

"Good. Don't forget that. And… look after Varric for me, will you? I don't want to see anything happen to him."

Melora smiled. "He's got someone else watching his back, too. She'll keep him safe. She has to, or he won't be able to write any more books."

"She?" Hawke raised an eyebrow.

"You'll have to ask him about that. Though after he's brought you here, she might just kill him herself."

~*~

After leaving Hawke, they hadn't even made it down off the battlements before the news of Hawke's arrival had made it to Cassandra. News traveled fast here; All of Skyhold probably already knew that the Champion of Kirkwall had been seen talking to the Inquisitor on the battlements.

Cassandra was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed over her chest, eyes fixed on Varric.

"You conniving little-- you knew where Hawke was all along, didn't you?" she demanded, stalking toward him, her eyes burning with anger.

Varric took a few steps back, but he shook his head, leaping to his own defense. "You're damned right I did. You kidnapped me! You interrogated me! What did you expect?"

Melora hung back on the stairs, Bull behind her.

"I expected you to tell the truth!" Cassandra shouted, dragging Varric by the collar into the forge, out of view of prying eyes. She shoved him up against the wall and held him there with her forearm spanning his chest. "I _told_ you what was at stake!"

Melora followed them into the forge, Bull close behind, but she hung back just inside the door. She didn't want to get in the middle of it, but she felt she should probably make sure Cassandra didn't _actually_ murder Varric.

"So you wanted me to, what, just hand her over on your say so?" Varric's cheeks were flushed, glaring up at Cassandra.

"We needed someone to lead this Inquisition from the start. Hawke was our only hope. And you kept her from us!"

"The Inquisition has a leader!" Varric protested, waving a hand at Melora. Melora took a step back, not wanting Cassandra's wrath directed at her instead.

"Hawke would have been at the Conclave," Cassandra insisted. "If anyone could have saved Most Holy…"

"The temple _exploded!_ Hawke's not explosion-proof! What could she possibly have done?"

"Even after the Conclave, when we needed Hawke most, you kept her secret!" Cassandra gave him an angry shove against the wall and then released him, stalking away and fuming.

"And she's with us now! We're on the same side!" Varric followed after her.

"I know whose side you're on, Varric. It will never be anyone's but your own."

Varric shrank back, stung, and he opened his palms to her. "What are you _talking_ about? If I was only on my own side, I'd pack up a couple dozen chests of gold and run to the furthest corner of the world away from rifts and archdemons and all of this. But I'm _here._ I'm out there, too, day after day, up to my ass in _nature_."

"We have so much at stake and you--" She clenched her hand into a fist and turned away from him again. "Go, Varric. Just… go."

"Cassandra…" Varric took a step toward her, reaching out a hand to her. Melora didn't think she'd ever seen him completely at a loss for words before.

But she didn't look up at him, and he slumped away, glancing back before he passed through the doorway and outside.

Cassandra leaned against a table, fingers curled over the edge clenching the wood tight. She hung her head and turned to notice Melora and Bull before shaking her head. "I suppose you heard all of that."

"I think all of Skyhold heard it," Melora said.

"Wonderful," said Cassandra with a sigh. "Why did I believe him? He spun his story for me, and I swallowed it. If I'd just explained what was at stake, if I'd just made him understand… But I didn't explain why we needed Hawke. Oh, I am such a fool. I should have been more careful. I should have been smarter."

"He should have been honest."

"I don't know if I would have accepted that, either. He may be lucky he's a good liar, because I would have…"

"What?"

Cassandra's eyes pulled away from Melora and she shook her head. "If I knew he had a way to contact Hawke, I would have gotten it out of him, one way or another. But… maybe if we'd found Hawke, the Maker wouldn't have needed to send you. I don't know what Hawke would have done in your place, but I know what _you_ have done. I know what the Inquisition has built with you leading it. Hawke could have done no better."

"I don't know about that," Melora said, giving Cassandra a warm smile. "She'd have had you on her side from the start. Seems like that might've gone a long way, and stopped all this before it started."

"You give me too much credit," Cassandra replied, her voice softening.

"Nonsense," said Melora, stepping up beside Cassandra to throw an arm around her in a hug. Melora leaned her head against Cassandra's shoulder. "I don't think we often stop and give each other near enough credit. You've saved my ass a hundred times at least. And yours was the first face I saw after all this started. Even if it was yelling at me at the time."

Cassandra smiled a little, considering this, and nodded. "We have done much, haven't we? Still so much to do, though." She put an arm around Melora, too, and gave her a tentative little side-hug.

"We'll get there. Even if you've got to bash every demon between here and the Anderfels over the head with your shield while I set their asses on fire. Andraste is with us. The Maker is with us. And Cassandra Allegra Portia Fucking Pentaghast is with us."

The rare sound of a giggle from Cassandra was a Maker-sent blessing. "That is not _quite_ how it goes," she said through a grin. "So… why is Hawke here now?"

Melora laughed. "Well, funny thing, that. How much do you know about siege tactics?"

~*~

"Varric," said Melora with a smile that showed too many teeth, and she plopped down in the chair that was usually Varric's, near the door in the great hall. She put her feet up on the table and folded her hands across her belly. She'd spent the afternoon meeting with Hawke and the war council, but she'd found some time after dinner to come have a little chat with Varric.

"Stabby," Varric said, eyeing her suspiciously. "How's things?"

"Great!" she replied cheerfully. "So, besides knowing about where Hawke was all along, are there any other secrets or lies you've got in your pockets?"

"Oh for-- You weren't even mad at me about Hawke before you heard Cassandra yelling at me about it!"

" _That's_ your defense?" Melora couldn't help but laugh, covering her mouth with her fingertips, but she was still angry. "Is there anything else you've been hiding that I should know?"

"What, you want to hear about my childhood? Maybe what I had for breakfast? I told you what I knew when it became important!"

Melora put her feet back down, leaning over her knees and glaring up at Varric. "You didn't _tell me_ anything. You brought Hawke here and arranged for a secret meeting on the battlements. You set it up for maximum drama!"

"Oh, yeah, I forgot how much you hate that. Next time I'll follow your example and do somersaults and set off green lightning in the Winter Palace." Varric crossed his arms, smirking annoyedly at her.

"That's _different_. This was a matter of Inquisition operations. Hawke's location could have been useful. She could have been part of the Inquisition from the very beginning."

Varric gave her an incredulous look. "Really? Anybody else you want to conscript, your Inquisitorialness? The First Talon of the Crows? Maybe the Empress of Orlais? The Inquisition's not a secret. People join by choice, and Hawke disappeared for a reason. And if Hawke had been at the temple, she would have died, too."

"Or she could have stopped this before it all started."

"If the Maker had wanted Hawke to stop it, I'm pretty sure he could've made that happen. He didn't. _You_ got chosen. Hawke stayed out of the way _because she had important things to do,_ and now, she's alive to help us. She was off investigating the Wardens and giving you information on how to stop Corypheus's demon army. Isn't that valuable?"

Melora stared him down. "Of course it is. But we should have known about it before now! You should have told us what she was doing. We could have offered support."

"I didn't know what she was doing! She contacted me, told me the gist of what she had, and I told her to get her ass here right away. That's it!"

"And you told Cassandra you had no way to contact Hawke! I understand you wanted to protect your friend. But you could have done that honestly. Have your principles. Disagree with me, fine. But don't lie when it comes to this Inquisition. If you had explained..."

" _You_ weren't there. This was before the Conclave. It was just Cassandra yelling at me. Just like old times!"

"You could have explained it to her."

"She wouldn't have accepted it, and she'd have thought I was lying anyway. It took months just for her to start tolerating me without glaring, let alone…" Varric's shoulders slumped and he sighed. "Well, shit. I'd better go talk to her, shouldn't I?"

Melora shrugged. "You could try, I suppose. She seems to have calmed down."

"Define 'calmed down' in terms of who or what she's punching right now?"

"Not you, currently. More herself."

Varric raised an eyebrow. "How's that?"

"She blames herself for what you did. I can't say she's happy with you, but I think she's a lot angrier at herself than you right now. You should talk to her."

"And talk her back into being angry?" Varric took a deep breath. "Well, it's either that or avoid her forever, so I guess I'll talk to her. I don't want this to, ah, well… mess things up, between her and me."

"So that really is a… I mean, you two are…?"

"Yeah, seems so. Or at least, we were starting to. Things between me and the Seeker are… complicated. Always have been. Maybe she'll have decided she hates me again. Not sure how she decided she liked me in the first place, but… I honestly thought a hole in the sky was the weirdest thing that could happen."

"For what it's worth," Melora said, "I hope she forgives you. For her sake, if nothing else. I want to see her happy."

"So do I. So are you not angry with me anymore, then?"

"I didn't say that. I'll remember this. Forgiveness is a luxury I don't get to have in my position. But... I still want to see you happy, too." Melora raised a finger as if she suddenly remembered something else. "Oh, and you'll probably want to talk to Hawke as well. I get the feeling she was a bit miffed at not knowing about Cassandra."

"You _told_ her?"

"Not exactly. I'll leave that to you. But with Hawke being your good friend, I'd have thought you'd have told her _something_. Guess Cassandra's not the only one you're keeping secrets from."

"Looks like its piss-off-all-the-women-in-Skyhold day for me," Varric grumbled.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Melora said, smirking. "You haven't upset Josephine or Leliana yet. But it's not even lunch yet, so you've got time. You'd best get on it."

Melora hopped up out of the chair and clapped Varric on the shoulder on her way out, leaving him to deal with his own mess. As she made her way toward the door of the hall, she nodded her acknowledgement to Solas and Blackwall, who were chatting with one another by the door as she passed.

Once she was well out of earshot of Varric, Melora muttered, "I'm going to have to put up a sign here in the hall saying 'It has been _this_ many days since someone let spill their secrets and lies'." 

Bull, following close behind, could hear her just fine.


	31. Chapter 31

Melora breathed in deeply the scent of the forest surrounding her, lifting her face to the warm, golden rays of sunlight that filtered through the pine boughs. The trees were still frosted with snow, but she and her companions had left behind the icy peaks of the Frostbacks and descended below the treeline to the north, toward Jader. From there, they would take the Imperial Highway westward to Halamshiral before veering south again, sweeping through the Dales to close rifts newly discovered in the wilderness. Then, they would head west past the southern edge of Lake Celestine before entering the Western Approach, to join with the Inquisition's main force once the army had arrived at Adamant.

They had already passed a dozen carts heading in the opposite direction, but for now, it was just the four of them and their horses, making their way through the countryside, their first day on the road pleasantly uneventful thus far. Her mare following Varric's mount, Melora could lay down the reins and take out her knitting, casting on a ring of tiny stitches onto polished, slender wooden needles.

She'd been so tense lately, the atmosphere of Skyhold so very hectic in preparation for the march on Adamant, so many people wanting her time. And she knew they'd be at Halamshiral soon enough, resupplying before heading into the fight once more, seeking out demons and tears in the Veil. But for now, there were a few days of relative peace, out in the beauty of the Maker's creation. For a while, as they made their way down through the snow, at Cassandra's request, Varric retold a few of his old adventures with Hawke, and they all listened as Varric spun the tales with masterful skill, gesturing with one hand and holding the reins with the other.

But after lunch, there was a lull in their chatting, riding two by two when the road narrowed between the trees.

The sounds of the horses' footfalls were muffled by the blanket of fallen pine needles beneath them, and there was little more sound than wind through the trees, the creak of their saddles, and the occasional grumble or whicker from one of the horses. The trees formed an arched roof overhead, a natural Chantry, streaming with green-gold light like through stained glass, and Melora smiled at the sight, closing her eyes. Like the dappled afternoon sunlight, the Maker's light warmed and refreshed her.

Softly, Melora began to sing, _"Hear now, Andraste, daughter of Brona, spear-made of Alamarr, to valiant hearts sing..."_

Her voice was high and sweet, if a bit rough, but what she lacked in skill, she made up for in sincerity.

 _"Of victory waiting, yet to be claimed from the steel-bond forgers of barren Tevene,"_ she continued, stronger now, finding her voice. Her fingers still moved stitch by stitch, her horse rocking beneath her with each step. _"Great heroes beyond counting raised oak and iron against chains of north-men, and walked the lonely worm-roads evermore."_

And joining Melora upon the next verse, Cassandra's voice was lower and richer, a pleasant contrast, _"Mighty of arm and warmest of heart, rendered to dust. Bitter is sorrow, ate raw and often, poison that weakens and does not kill. Why must the Shield of Alamarr shatter beneath bond and blade?"_

Melora's voice lifted high and strong, interwoven against Cassandra's, and they raised the Chant into the forest around them.

But over one line, Cassandra and Melora stumbled, turning to each other laughing as their words tangled together. "You use the New Cumberland verses," Melora laughed.

"Of course!" said Cassandra, eyebrows raised and smiling.

"Don't you find them awkward?"

"No, the pacing fits the tune better."

"I prefer the Marcher version where you get the whole words," Melora said with a shrug.

"But it's not the version of the Chant approved by the Chantry."

Melora sniffed, smirking. "Perhaps, but which sounds better? I don't think we'll be calling the Maker back with a song that sounds so stilted and archaic."

Cassandra gasped. "Stilted?! It is not! It's poetry!" She turned to Varric. "Do _you_ think the New Cumberland version is stilted and archaic?"

Varric laughed and shook his head. "No way, I'm not getting in the middle of this."

"Surely you must have an opinion."

"Yeah, but not enough of an opinion to get on the bad side of whichever of you I disagree with," Varric replied, grinning. "I am fully neutral here. They both sound lovely, and that's all I'm saying."

Cassandra scoffed and rolled her eyes, twisting in the saddle to turn back to Bull. "Fine, Bull, what do _you_ think?"

Bull chuckled. "You know, I'm not Andrastian, and this isn't exactly my first language…"

"That's exactly why your opinion would be so valuable," Cassandra said, nodding matter-of-factly. "You're not influenced by being brought up with the right or _wrong_ versions. You're impartial."

Varric was snickering as Bull said, "Yeaaah, I think I'm with Varric on this one. I'm just gonna smile and nod and say they're both very nice."

"Ugh," Cassandra grumbled, glancing back to Melora. "Well, we have to finish the Canticle at least. So we'll have to pick a version."

Melora sighed over-dramatically, knitting a few stitches as if carefully considering this, and then said finally, "Oh, have it your way." She sang the next lines while trying very hard not to laugh, _"Hand all outstretch'd, stars glist'ning as jewels, from rings 'pon his fingers and crown 'pon his brow..."_

Cassandra joined in for the next part, chin raised and looking pleased, _"Sword-shattering fear filled me overflowing, grandeur of godhood no gaze should defile..."_

Together, they sung through the whole Canticle of Andraste, a meandering epic tale which told of the foundations of Andraste's faith in the Maker, said to be the song of Andraste herself. By the time they reached the part where the Maker first appeared to Andraste, even Varric hummed along quietly, despite his steadfast refusal to _ever_ sing.

Melora glanced back at Bull while she sang, to see him watching her with a pleasant smile, and she'd looked back to her knitting with a little smile of her own as she started the next verse.

Until the day began to fade into dusk, the Chant filled the forest around them. They finished singing the Canticle just as the light waned, and they found a good spot to camp, seeing to the horses before they settled in for the evening. As the sun went down, the four of them gathered around the fire in the middle of their camp, two rabbits that Varric had shot earlier in the day cleaned and roasting over the flames. Darkness falling, the temperature dropped dramatically, and despite the fire, their breath fogged the air before them as they ate. They filled their bellies with pieces of steaming meat stuffed into the soft center of chunks of crusty bread, and then they licked their fingers clean, washing it all down with wooden cups of spiced tea that warmed their chill hands.

Sitting at the fire against a fallen log, Cassandra cleaned her fingernails with the tip of a knife. Varric sat atop the log beside her, hunched into his cloak. Across from them, Melora was halfway through the thumb gusset of the glove, her fine, double-pointed wooden needles sticking out every which way and making it look as if she were knitting using a porcupine. But her fingertip flicked the yarn over the end of one of the needles with ease, fine black wool becoming tidy stitches, and she only had to lean occasionally toward the fire to fix a stitch by better light.

Varric turned to Cassandra and said with a smirk, "You look cold, Seeker."

"It is a little chilly, but I will live," Cassandra replied, tucking her knife away in one of her many belts, and she gave Varric a sidelong glance, layers of nuance held in the curl at the corner of her lips.

"Nah, you look like you're freezing. Oh, don't look at me like that. Alright, fine, _I'm_ the one who's freezing. C'mere," Varric said, and he lifted the corner of his cloak, wrapping his arm around Cassandra's shoulders to pull her close. He gasped, sucking in a hissing breath through his teeth. "Eaaaghhhh, cold armor in the armpit!"

Cassandra laughed, a rich, rolling sound from the back of her throat, and she leaned toward Varric, relaxing against him. The tension between the two of them seemed to have been resolved, and Melora smiled over the top of her knitting, watching the two of them. It was good to see them happy. Someone ought to be happy in all of this.

Finished with setting up the second tent, Bull dusted his hands off on his thighs as he came over, lowering himself down to sit on a large, flat rock next to Melora. She gave him a slightly strained smile and kept knitting as he lay his hand against her back.

"So, Bull," said Varric from the other side of the campfire, "How's the whole... Tal-Vashoth thing going? You're a free man now, right?"

"Yeah, that's me, living the life." From his pocket, he pulled a handful of little treats wrapped in waxed paper and held them out to the others. They all declined, and Melora's nose wrinkled at the smell of them. Bull had been delighted when he'd found some at a market a few months back and had bought a huge bag of them. But Melora had tried one of the candies only once, the taste something like sweet, salty earwax, and had no desire to have a second.

"Unless... you're even more secretly a spy now," Varric said amiably, smirking.

Melora dropped several stitches, and had to force herself not to react.

Bull eyed Varric and snorted, tucking the extra candies back in his pocket and unwrapping one. "That what you think?" He popped the soft, pungent black cube of candy into his mouth.

"Nah, but you have to admit, it'd make a _great_ plot twist. I think you finally decided whether you care about your people, or your _people."_

Bull shrugged, chewing thoughtfully before he said, "Hmm. Maybe. Sorry to ruin the story for you."

"Eh, this one's got enough bad guys as it is. You made the right choice."

"Yeah. I did." And the subtle press of one of Bull's fingers against Melora's back told her that the double meaning she heard in his words was intentional.

"Still, gotta be disconcerting, getting kicked out of Qunari Club. That why you've been sort of off lately?"

Bull raised an eyebrow. "Off?"

Melora tensed slightly. She thought they'd both been doing fairly well at pretending everything was fine.

"Yeah," Varric said. "You've been quieter than usual. And you didn't point out any trees or rocks that looked like dirty parts all day."

"Eh, I guess," said Bull, and his thumb stroked along the back of Melora's neck reassuringly.. "Even though it doesn't seem like that much of a change, it's still a lot to process."

"I admit I don't fully understand what Tal-Vashoth means, but… I am sorry," said Cassandra.

"The Seekers gave you rules to live by, right? The Qunari have the same, and now... I don't."

Cassandra frowned. "But even if I were cast out of the Seekers, I could still live by their teachings. Can you not do that as well?"

Bull made a motion with his hand, mouth twisting as he thought about how to explain. "Only sort of. Following the Qun's about more than personal morality. It's about being a part of the Qun. Philosophy as a team sport. There's parts of it that dictate what an individual should do, but following the Qun without being in it is… It's like being a bee without a hive. Doesn't matter how much bee stuff you do, because you're still just one bee, and it's pointless."

Cassandra _hmmed_ , and said, "I see," but she didn't sound certain at all. "But… you are not a bee. And what you do is far from pointless."

"I know," Bull said. "It was just an analogy. Just saying. It's a real… different way of looking at things than most people here do. Hard to adjust."

"You've been in Orlais, away from the Qunari for years. Is it that different now?"

Bull sat back, rolling his shoulders. "No, it's not, just… look, I appreciate the concern, but… I'm good, really. I've got my Chargers, I've got the Inquisition, and I've got my _kadan._ " Melora forced a subtle curl to the corners of her mouth, working to fix the dropped stitches by the flickering firelight as Bull added, "And I'm gonna get to watch the Inquisition lay siege to a fortress, which ought to be pretty sweet."

"This conflict with the Wardens is terrible, and you would call it 'pretty sweet'?" Cassandra asked, raising both eyebrows, her disapproval clear on her face.

"I was talking about the siege. Getting to see the Inquisition's whole army roll out and fling giant flaming rocks at a big old fortress… _that's_ gonna be great."

"Inquisition soldiers will die," Cassandra insisted. "As will some of the Wardens, undoubtedly."

"Yeah, they will, but not because of me thinking it's kinda bad-ass. They'll be dead either way. And with how we throw ourselves into danger, who knows? We might be next. So why shouldn't I try to enjoy it while I can?"

"I suppose that's… one perspective," Cassandra said, frowning.

Bull gave a relaxed, shrugging sort of gesture with one hand. "Look, Varric asked if I was alright with all of this. I am. I'm good."

"If you say so, Tiny," Varric replied pleasantly.

In the awkward silence that followed, Melora asked, "Who has first watch?" and faked a yawn behind her palm.

"I think that's me tonight," said Varric.

Nodding, Melora folded her knitting away and got to her feet. "I think I'm off to sleep, then. It's been a long day."

"Good idea," Bull said, getting up too, stretching. "My ass is saddle-sore and I'm beat."

"Good night," Cassandra replied, and she and Varric exchanged a small glance as Melora and Bull headed off to their tent.

Melora let Bull get in first, easier for her to maneuver around him than the other way around, and she crawled in beside him, his shape a huge, horned silhouette next to her in the darkness, lying propped up on his forearms.

She hadn't said anything, but Bull turned to her and said softly, "It's alright."

"What is?" she asked.

"Varric and Cassandra asking questions. They're gonna be curious." Bull's voice was little more than a whisper, so he couldn't possibly be heard outside the tent.

Melora sat back, arms draped over her legs, pulled up to her chest. "Varric's clever. Too clever. A liar knows a liar. He could figure it out."

"He won't. As much as he tries to play the cynic, Varric wants to believe the best in people."

"What about Cassandra? She was prying. Like she was suspicious."

Bull chuckled a little and shook his head. "She's a _Seeker_. And… it's also just who she is. She wasn't trying to pry. She was trying to help. That was coming from a place of concern, not suspicion. She's not really the sort to just pat you on the shoulder and go 'there, there' if she sees you're upset. She thinks there's a solution to every problem if you interrogate it or hit it hard enough. Usually one, then the other. So, no, I'm not worried about her asking some questions, either. I'll worry when she starts giving me the cold shoulder."

"Still," Melora said, "We're around them all the time. They could--"

"No. They're concerned with each other right now _way_ more than either of us. You see how they are? For one, it's _adorable_ , and two, it means they've got a lot on their minds. Plus, we're all still trying to save the world."

"I hope you're right," she said, glancing at Bull in the darkness.

"I am. Besides, they gave us a good cover. Anything's weird with me or… uh, between us, well, the whole Tal-Vashoth big upheaval… whatever, explains it away. Stress of a major life change, or… some kinda crap like that."

She took a deep breath through her nose and then asked, "Did you mean what you said? About being alright with… all this?"

"Does it matter how I answer you now? If you think I'm a liar, whether I say yes or no is irrelevant."

"It matters," Melora said quietly. Despite what he had done, despite what he still might be, she didn't want him to be miserable.

There was a small pause before Bull said, "I meant it. Can't say this whole situation is ideal, but…" His voice got very low and soft, each word said with deliberate slowness. "This is where I'm supposed to be."

"Because you were ordered to be?"

She couldn't see if he winced in the darkness, but she heard him take a deep breath. "No. I'm not under any orders now besides yours. I'm done with the Qun, even if it doesn't want to be done with me. I'm here because I said I'd keep you safe, and that's exactly what I'm gonna do. And because I believe in what you're doing. And in you."

"So it's out of a sense of duty?"

Bull sighed. "No. Well, maybe part of it, but, I mean... I _want_ to be here. Look, I know having to pretend is just one more damn thing you have to deal with. But you asked me to do this, said this is how I can help, so this is what I'm doing. But if you change your mind and tell me to leave, I'll leave."

Melora was quiet for a few breaths then, thinking, and she said softly, "Just following orders."

"Not _just_ following orders. But the only orders I'm interested in now are yours, _Inquisitor."_

She looked at his silhouette in the darkness, a huge shadow tipped with the sharp peaks of his horns. "And if I had given no such order for… for this outcome? If I had left the choice to you?"

"I'd still be here, if you'd have me. I'd rather be here, trying to help you sort out all this mess than anywhere else. I couldn't just walk away and leave you to deal with all this crap alone."

"I see." Back to duty, then.

Bull made a low, grumbling sort of noise and said, "I don't know what you want me to say."

Melora rubbed her palms over her face. "Maker, I don't know, either." And truly, she didn't. There weren't any words he could say that could fix this, no explanation sufficient, no excuse great enough. He lied as easily as he smiled.

Very quietly, Bull said, "I'm here not because you ordered me, or said I'm some kind of prisoner, but because this is what you need me to do. And it may sound kinda stupid, or maybe sorta shitty, but… Even though I know you're having to put on a smile, I can't help but enjoy some of it. Like earlier, just going along through the woods, you were knitting and listening to Varric talk about the Bone Pit--"

"You _really_ must be off if you didn't say anything about the _Bone Pit_ ," Melora muttered.

Bull snorted a soft chuckle through his nose, shifting as he shook his head. "Yeah, see, crap like that. Even with everything as fucked up as it is, even though I know you hate me and you're only keeping me around because you have to, there's still so much of this that feels almost--"

"Normal?" she offered.

"Yeah, exactly. I know it's not, but--"

"No, I know what you mean. It's interesting how easily we slip into old habits, hm?" It was a barb, but one she hadn't fully intended, so she shook her head and said, "I've never had to pretend that I enjoy being around you. Not even now."

"Not even _now?_ Right now, in the tent of awkwardness?" Bull asked with a slight chuckle.

And despite the tension, Melora smiled, though he probably couldn't see it in the darkness. "Even now." Her smile faded, and she said, "You're wrong about one thing, though. I don't hate you."

"No? Well, that's good, I guess."

Melora made a little noncommittal noise and pulled her blanket up over her legs, laying down on her bedroll. "I wish I could hate you. It'd make this so much easier," she said quietly, and she curled onto her side, turning her back to him.

There was no response, and after a minute, Bull sighed and laid down beside her.

"I'm sorry," Bull said quietly. "About… everything."

"I know," Melora said. "Goodnight, Bull."

"Goodnight, Inquisitor," Bull replied, and there was a small sound at the end, an intake of breath like he was going to say something else. But Melora waited, and he said no more.

Laying there in the tent, Melora held her half of the dragon's tooth in her palm and watched the way the light of her mark played along the curves of the tooth, the chain still around her neck a glittering thread in the darkness, tethering the chain to her. _Tethering her to him_. And she knew that around his neck, he still wore his matching half of the same tooth.

_No matter what, we'll always be together._

_No matter what._

This was not at all what she'd had in mind, side by side but so far apart.

~*~

A few hours before dawn, Cassandra came to wake Bull for his turn standing watch. Cassandra stood outside the tent and just said Bull's name softly, knowing it took no more than that to rouse him.

"Hm? Yeah, alright, just a minute," Bull said, the words slurred with sleep.

"There's tea," Cassandra said quietly.

"Arright, thanks," Bull replied as Cassandra started to walk away, and he tried to lift his hand to rub at his eye.

But he stopped, feeling a weight on his arm, and opened his eye.

Melora lay with her head on his shoulder, her arm draped over his chest, breath warm on the side of his neck. Bull had his arm around her.

His jostling had woken her, and she made a little noise, opening her eyes and blinking confusedly in the dark. She sat up with a start, jumping away from him as if she'd been burned.

She didn't know what to do, sitting there hugging her knees. Bull, too, was quiet, and Melora could feel the tension hanging between them, waiting for her to say something.

All she wanted to do was to lay back down against him, to feel his arms around her again.

Finally, Melora slipped out of the tent without saying a word.

~*~

The green of the Dales gave way to the windswept deserts of the Western Approach, and the last few days of the journey were very _sandy._ The sand seemed to get into everything, working its way into every seam of their bedrolls, the toes of their boots, the backs of their ears. By the time the Inquisitor and her companions approached the main force near Adamant Fortress, they were all covered in a fine layer of grit and dust, tinted the same rusted brown of the hills through which they rode. Melora knew now why they called these the badlands, miserably baking in windblown sand through the day, and shivering through the night.

From the top of a ridge, they first sighted the Inquisition camp. Spread out on the plain before them stood row upon row of neatly aligned tents, standing bright like bared teeth in the late afternoon sunlight. And all around, the camp teemed with activity, innumerable troops visible in and around the camp.

For a moment, the four of them just stared, awestruck by the immensity of it all.

"That's--" started Varric, shielding his eyes with his hand. "I knew the numbers, but it's different seeing all of them in one place like that."

"Recruits have flocked to the Inquisition," Cassandra said, nodding. "They're eager to fight on the side of Andraste's Herald."

"Just look at them all, though," Varric said, and then he turned to Melora, grinning. "Y'know, Stabby, you're in charge of all of them, technically. You could go down there and tell them all to jump up and down on one foot or to put their underpants on their heads and they'd have to do it. Oh, you could have 'em do both at once. Thousands of people, jumping on one foot with their underpants as hats."

"You see the largest army in southern Thedas and _that's_ what you think of?" Cassandra asked, eyeing Varric disapprovingly.

Varric shrugged cheerfully. "You've got to admit, it makes for a great visual."

Bull was chuckling, and despite herself, Cassandra's lips twitched into a faint smirk.

But Melora was still just staring, taking in the enormity of what lay before her. The scale of it…

Varric was right. She _was_ in charge. Oh, it was Cullen's army, to be sure, but she was the Inquisitor and the Herald. They were her troops just as much as they were Cullen's. Maker, how could that be, that so many people followed her orders… that so many followed _her?_ She was leading her people to war, and they were to be fighting the _Grey Wardens_.

Had Andraste felt like this before her Exalted March against the Imperium? Had she looked over her own army before striking out at Tevinter and felt this same sense of dread, of being humbled and awestruck at the weight and responsibility of so many lives following her, perhaps into death? But the Bride of the Maker had always seemed so sure in the Chant and the stories, confidence in her task unshakeable.

So why couldn't her Herald be so fearless? Why did Andraste's chosen look down upon an army of the faithful and feel only dread?

Melora sucked in a breath through barely-parted lips, and she tightened her grip on the reins. Her little mare danced beneath her, feeling Melora's unease. It wasn't too late. She could just run away, nudge her horse into a gallop and make for the horizon in the opposite direction. The others might try to follow, but they were still only novice riders, too afraid to go very fast. But where would she go, then? What would she do?

With a sigh, Melora discarded the notion. Even if she did run, did get away, she knew she'd succumb to guilt and shame soon enough and come slinking back, having to explain herself and inconveniencing everyone. And she'd never forgive herself for such cowardice.

"Come on," Melora said, and she sounded more grim than she'd intended. Forcing a smile onto her face, she glanced at the others and nudged her horse forward over the ridge. "They're expecting us."

They had barely made it halfway to the camp before they were noticed, and by the time they reached the outskirts of the Inquisition's war camp, it seemed every one of the troops already knew the Inquisitor had arrived. Even at such a distance, Bull's silhouette astride his huge mount was unmistakeable for anyone else, and everyone in the Inquisition knew that where the Inquisitor went, her Right Hand followed.

And as they approached the camp, it seemed half the army streamed out to meet them, waving and calling to them from across the distance.

Bull slowed his horse and turned to the others to say, "Uh, just a thought, Varric and Cassandra, can you two ride alongside her?" He nodded to Melora, and let her pass him, following behind her so he had her within his view. The Inquisition had already been breached by assassins once. Any one of the thousands of troops out there on the sands could have some desire to see the Inquisitor come to harm.

Catching his meaning, Cassandra and Varric drew up beside Melora, helping surround her.

"Always so suspicious," Cassandra said, glancing back at Bull.

"I'd rather be suspicious than dead," Bull replied. "Nobody dismount until we're clear, alright?"

Melora frowned back at him but nodded in acknowledgement.

"Herald!" she heard those approaching cry. "Inquisitor, hail!"

And when they reached the Inquisitor and her companions, hands were outstretched towards her, smiling faces turned up at her. The horses kept anyone from getting too close, and though they crowded around, those gathered stepped aside to let the riders pass. Nobody wanted to have to tell the commander that they were going to have to sit the battle out because a horse had stepped on their foot. But everyone also wanted a glimpse of the Herald.

"The Maker is with us! Andraste's Herald is with us!"

"To victory, Inquisitor!"

"Blade of the faith!"

From behind her, she heard Bull, shouting over the clamor around them, "Any of you know where we can find Commander Cullen?" he asked, a grin in his voice. Dozens of hands pointed off toward the other side of the camp and Bull laughed. "Thanks!"

They urged the horses on, and Melora tried desperately to keep her face passive, only a subtle smile, sweeping her view around to encompass them all. She stood up as straight and tall in the saddle as she could, hoping she looked appropriately inspiring.

A circle of partly-open tents stood in the center of the camp. The crowd of soldiers hung back, knowing that Cullen would be somewhere in the command center, and not wanting to be yelled at to get back to their duties.

As soon as she swung her leg over to dismount, a groom appeared at her side, and Melora handed over the reins with a quiet thanks. From out of the tent emerged Cullen in full battle armor, and by the looks of it, his fur cowl had been freshly fluffed, a mane surrounding his golden head.

"Inquisitor!" Cullen said, his tone clipped from shouting orders at subordinates all day. "Nice of you to join us. We expected you before midday."

"Bandits," Melora said with a shrug, trying to ignore his disapproval. He always got tense when dealing directly with the soldiers at length. "You know how it is."

"Were you injured? We can delay…"

Melora smiled and shook her head. There it was, Cullen's soft heart showing, despite being wrapped in armor and stress. "No, no. Just waylaid," she said. "What's the plan?"

"We're ready to mount the attack, Inquisitor," Cullen said, his formality reminding her once again of her centrality in all this. Melora clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. "Hawke and Stroud have gone ahead with our scouts as part of the lookout."

"You've got eyes on the fortress?" Bull asked, and he brought his hand to the small of Melora's back, fingertips resting just lightly there along the line of her belt. Of course, he could tell how nervous she really was. Her stomach twisted, conflicted yet comforted by his touch.

Cullen nodded at Bull. "We've sent ahead enough scouts that we have the entire fortress ringed at intervals, except in the chasm itself, of course. It's quiet, and has been for over a week. No one in or out, but there are lights at night… not just firelight. I believe it's fortunate we arrived when we did, as last night, our scouts reported a bright green glow at Adamant, somewhere away from the outer walls. We're not sure exactly where, but we believe--"

"They've opened a rift," Melora said.

"Exactly," said Cullen. "They're bringing through their demon army."

"Great," Bull grumbled.

"Then, are we not already too late?" Melora asked.

Cullen shook his head. "According to Solas, it will take some time for them to summon an army's worth of demons, even with an open rift. Sooner might have been better, but we're not too late. We will delay no further, though, and attack tonight."

They wouldn't be getting a good rest for a while, then. Melora nodded wearily, but asked Cullen, "Why attack at night?"

"It's to our advantage. We already know where they are. Under cover of darkness, our soldiers will be much harder to hit with arrows."

"Alright. Tonight it is, then." Try as she might, she could not stop her voice from trembling. How many of the people she'd passed in the crowd had already seen their last sunrise? How many would lay dead by morning? _Eager to fight on the side of Andraste's Herald._ Their lives were in her hands, and when she looked down, Melora saw that those hands would not stop shaking.

"The arcanist, Dagna, sent along a gift for you, by the way, that she said you all _must_ open before the battle. They're each in a chest in your tents," Cullen said.

Melora looked back up at Cullen, blinking. "She did? Well that's-- Wait, our tents? You can't really fit a chest in--"

Cullen chuckled and turned to one of his aides. "Jim, can you see the Inquisitor and her party to their quarters?"

"Yes, ser. Certainly, ser!" replied the aide with an emphatic nod.

"You have time to get cleaned up and have something to eat, but you should prepare yourselves. We'll begin the march at dusk, which should put us at Adamant shortly after nightfall," Cullen said.

"Understood," replied Melora, giving Cullen a strained smile.

They followed Cullen's aide a short distance through the camp to where several larger tents of bleached white canvas stood already prepared for their arrival. The aide indicated which was for Varric and Cassandra, and then with a flourish, he held back the flap on the largest of the tents for Bull and Melora. "Your Lady Inquisitorship, your quarters," said the aide grandly, allowing them to enter before he rushed back off to Cullen.

Bull ducked in before her, always first through the door, and Melora followed, blinking in amazement. This was hardly still a tent, constructed of study upright poles allowing for a large space within, big enough that Bull could straighten up without raking the canvas with his horns. Lamps had been lit, their flames a subtle glow in the waning light of the afternoon, and there was even a rug laid upon the ground. And instead of a bedroll, they'd provided her with an actual bed. It was low and not heavily padded, a platform of wooden pieces that slotted together so it could be easily assembled and disassembled in the field, with a thin mattress and layers of blankets on top… But it was a _bed._ After these past few weeks on the road on cold, lumpy ground, a proper bed sounded _very_ nice.

And it'd been built big enough for two.

"Good to be the Inquisitor, isn't it?" Bull marvelled, looking around at the tent. "Heh, assuming we live, at least you'll get a good sleep after."

"I didn't know they were going to do this. If I'd known, I'd have told them not to bother."

"No, you wouldn't," Bull said, and when she turned to him questioningly, he waved a hand, shrugging before explaining, "There's thousands of soldiers out there, following you to war. A whole lot of them were clamoring for you when we got here. And now that we're readying the attack, they expect to see you here. No offense, but you're a little difficult to see from a distance when you're not on a horse. So you've got a big tent, so they can look through the camp and see that you're here. It ain't decorated in fancy gold thread or anything, because they don't need to think you're in here on fancy cushions eating chocolates. But it's bigger than theirs, because you're bigger than them. You have to be, for them to follow you."

She didn't feel very big, standing there looking up at him. Did this count as advice? It didn't really matter what it was; he was right, and she knew it. Melora sighed, looking around at the tent.

"I don't feel very big right now. This is all just so…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "Oh, Maker, what am I doing here? We're about to go attack the Grey Wardens. I know the Wardens have had a… somewhat checkered history, but this seems completely mad."

"Don't forget the whole demon army thing, too."

Melora laughed, too loud, ending in a groan. "Yes, that too." She ran her hands over her face, rubbing at her skin as if to wake herself. "This can't be happening. Are we really going to do this?"

Bull looked down at her with a gentle smile and shrugged. "Yeah, we are."

Melora looked up at the roof of the tent, as if there were answers she could find written there, if only she could see through the canvas and past the clouds into the heavens, to read the will of the Maker in the pattern of the stars. "How did we ever get here?" she whispered, her voice cracking.

"A lot of walking, a bit of riding," Bull said.

Melora sucked in a breath through her nose. "You know what I mean. Just seems… impossible."

"You do the impossible all the time, and you make it look _easy._ So we're gonna go kick some demon ass, beat some sense into the Wardens, probably set some crap on fire. _And_ we get to watch the walls of an ancient fortress get knocked down by trebuchets, which should be pretty bad-ass."

She looked up at him with narrowed eyes, the corner of her mouth twitching into a thin smile. "You seem determined to find the good in just about anything."

"Well, yeah. Why not? I'd rather die having a great time than terrified."

"You really do just decide you're going to enjoy yourself no matter what?"

"Nah. Some crap's just awful no matter how you look at it. But laying siege to a fortress with trebuchets and busting in to stop a bunch of demon-summoning blood mages sounds more like one of my wet dreams than something we've actually got planned for the evening. So I'm gonna try to have a good time and not die. Pretty much my motto, really."

Melora ran her palms back over her hair, sighing. "I wish I could see it that way."

"I know part of you does, sometimes." Bull said. "Even now, these past weeks out in the Dales… I know it's been hard sometimes, and we've gotten roughed up some by demons and bandits, but there have been some good bits, too."

Melora pressed her lips together tight, trying not to smirk, and said, "Like when Cassandra punched that bear."

Bull grinned and nodded. "Yeah. Oh, and when Varric slid alllll the way down that hill on his ass, and we had to pull him out of that hedge."

A tiny giggle escaped Melora's lips. "Oh, he was so mad. And upside-down."

Leaning down to peer at her face, Bull gave her a satisfied smile. "Ah, there it is. See? Not so bad, is it? You're still breathing, so you can still laugh."

Melora took a deep breath, trying to purge the tension from herself, and she looked up at him with a little shrug, her smile dissolving. "No, now I just feel bad for laughing. This is serious! We're attacking the Grey Wardens tonight and people are going to die. And they're all counting on me, and following _me_ , and when I pulled my boots on this morning, my hand slipped and I punched myself in the eye!"

Bull shook his head, trying not to laugh, his expression softening into a gentle sort of smile. "Yeah, but it was with the hand that's got the thing that closes rifts, and the Wardens've got a rift in that fortress that's spitting out demons, so everyone out there is fighting to get you in there to close it. Everyone out there knows what they're getting into, and you're not the kind of leader who sits way at the back shouting orders. Your ass is on the line, too. So quit beating yourself up for having a big tent and a title without having all the answers. What good's it do you?"

"You're right. I just… I don't know how to stop being afraid." Melora sighed, looking down at her marked hand. She shouldn't have been talking to him like this, letting him give her advice, giving him more ammunition. "And I'm wasting time wallowing in fear."

She went to a basin in the corner, pouring water and wetting a cloth there to clean the dirt from her face and hands. Melora leaned over the basin, holding the dripping cloth to her eyes, and tried to collect herself.

There was a long pause from Bull, and she could almost hear him thinking, but then he took a deep breath, raising his eyebrows as he said, "Didn't Cullen say there's something from Dagna?"

"He did, didn't he? Perhaps in there?" Melora waved a hand at a large chest against one wall of the tent, and she set the cloth aside.

Bull strode over, flipping the chest open and Melora followed, scuffing her wet hands off on her thighs. Inside the chest on top, resting on a soft green cloth, was a handwritten note in a round, hurried sort of script, with smudges of charcoal on the corners of the paper. Peering around Bull's side, Melora picked up the note and read it.

_I hope this gets to you before the battle! Harritt had the leatherwork and smithing done ages ago, but I took a while with the finishing because some of the runes require the right phases of the moons to properly harmonize. Oh, if you see any sloth demons, can you get me a sample of their ichor? I think I can distill it into a powerful paralytic agent that can be applied to any bladed weapon, so that should be fun! Good luck at Adamant and come back in one piece, or at least, in mostly large pieces!_

_\- Dagna_

Melora handed the note to Bull for him to read too, and then lifted away the cloth covering.

Inside the chest lay a huge set of armor, a masterwork of the Inquisition's armorers, crafted from dragon bone and leather made from the cured webbing of a dragon's wing.

"Niiiice!" Bull said. He lifted out the breastplate and pauldrons, holding them up to himself.

The other parts of Bull's armor were tucked around the sides, and in the bottom of the chest lay a smaller set of armor. It was lighter weight, dragon webbing and fine chain weave. The sets matched, the same style of intricate decorative tooling around the edges, leather dyed black with contrasts of rich emerald green, fashioned in some areas into overlapping scales.

Melora looked into the chest with wide eyes, running her fingers over the gleaming leather. "This is amazing," she said, breathless.

"We are gonna get her _so much_ demon ichor," Bull said with a grin.

"I just hope we don't get any of it on this new armor. It's so…"

"Pretty?"

"Yes!" And it was, the cut echoing slightly the armor of the Inquisition's soldiers, yet far more grandly decorated and detailed.

"Should see how it fits." Bull started taking out each piece of his armor, examining and arranging them carefully, laying everything out just so before he started to unbuckle his harness. He shrugged it off and started to undo his belt before he glanced back at Melora. She was still standing there, watching him.

"Enjoying the view?" he asked, bare to the waist, unbelted trousers hanging loose on his hips, and he tipped his chin up, broad shoulders back. He _knew_ how damn good he looked.

She hadn't meant to stare, and she still hadn't gotten used to this awkward dance of theirs when they were alone, this strange combination of intimacy and distance. "Sorry," she muttered, and she dropped her gaze to her feet.

Bull shrugged. "I don't mind if you look," he said as he took off his boots. "Not like I've ever been embarrassed by being naked."

But she didn't want to look. Oh, part of her did, knowing what a glorious sight he was. He had become no less beautiful in her eyes. But Melora knew now that his beauty had been a disguise, so that she did not see his treachery. Some of the most toxic flowers blooming in the Maker's creation were also the most beautiful. Only a fool knew this and tasted them anyway.

She was a fool.

Melora kept her eyes down as she fetched her things from the chest, laying them at the foot of the bed, silently marveling at how her armor weighed almost nothing, lightweight and flexible but incredibly strong. She unwound her scarf from her neck and tossed it aside, and then threw off her wool coat and yanked her linen shirt off over her head. She turned her back to Bull as she pulled off her boots and shed her trousers.

She grabbed the first layer and started to step into the long woolen undergarment, but she had to take a moment to examine the stitching. It wasn't her own work, but whoever had knitted it had done beautifully, thousands of perfectly matched stitches in fine, soft black wool shaped into a seamless garment that fitted her perfectly. It would form a layer of light padding beneath her armor, as well as keeping her warm and dry. Wishing she'd been able to have a bath first, Melora slipped on the wool underlayer and then added a padded jacket over the top before putting on her boots, skirt, vambraces, and gloves. Everything was all so new, crisp and smelling richly of fresh oil and the cedar chest in which it'd been packed.

But the fastenings of Melora's breastplate were stiff and unfamiliar beneath her fingertips, the angle awkward along her sides to do up the buckles. Dammit, the people out there were expecting her to lead them into war, and she couldn't even get her fucking armor on. She whispered the Chant in a rush of breath, the words spoken without thought. _"Oh Maker, hear my cry, guide me through the blackest nights."_

But it brought no comfort, and she clenched her hands together, trying to stretch her fingers, to stop from shaking. She closed her eyes, lips moving silently through the Canticle of Transfigurations, and she tried to slow the pounding of her heart. " _Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked."_

They were within striking distance of Adamant. This was happening, and Melora was at the very center of it all. She recited the Chant faster and faster, the words blurring together. _"Make me to rest in the warmest places."_

Big, warm hands settled over hers, and Melora's eyes flew open as she started to pull away.

Bull slipped a small glass vial into her palm, and without saying a word, he knelt at her feet and started working at the buckles on the sides of her breastplate, fastening them one by one. He'd only gotten his own armor partway on, wearing only his new trousers and boots, bare to the waist… except for his own dragon's tooth.

The vial lay there in Melora's trembling hand, stoppered with a cork. Her mark shone through the glass, making the deep red dragon's blood appear black.

Melora opened her mouth to protest but then closed it again, frowning, still looking at the vial. The Inquisition was about to attack Adamant Fortress and take on the Grey Wardens. If there ever was a time that required she be better than her best, it was now.

Flicking her tongue over her lips, Melora looked to Bull. He'd finished fastening her armor, and sat back to watch her. He'd said nothing at all, and Melora gave a nervous laugh. "You didn't tell me to take it, just… put it in my hands. That's not advice, right?"

Bull gave a slight shrug. "Maybe. You were the one who brought it along, though."

She held the little vial up to the light, watching the blood within swirling inside the glass like a storm in a bottle. She could feel it, thrumming there against her fingertips, the blood still so full of power, still so _alive._

 _"Touch me with fire that I be cleansed,"_ she murmured, clasping the vial tight in her fist, and she let her eyes settle closed, focusing on her right hand, heating the vial until it was searing hot. Then she carefully plucked out the stopper and placed a drop of dragon's blood upon her tongue.

The feeling hit her differently this time. The flame roared to life not from outside of her, but from within, embers still burning deep inside her suddenly rekindled. The fire coiled around her limbs, sparks bursting beneath her skin. Melora stumbled, dizzied as it hit her, and she reached out her free hand to Bull's shoulder. He put an arm around her back, steadying her.

When she opened her eyes, she was face to face with him, his arm strong and secure around her, hand splayed over her back. Her hand rested on the bare skin of his shoulder, one finger against the side of his neck.

"Whoa," he whispered, staring at her. "I can see it. Like little candle flames behind your eyes."

She grinned and nodded, but then stopped suddenly and gasped, running her hand over him, stroking her fingertips up his neck to his jaw. "Oh," she hushed in wonder, sliding over his bare shoulder and down his arm. "I can still feel you."

Bull froze and let go of her, sitting back from her. "Yeah. Sorry."

Melora winced, curling her fingers to her palms, the feeling of him still on her skin, a stolen touch. "No, I didn't-- I mean… Ohh, it's the strangest feeling. Like standing in a room with a roaring fire. Even with your eyes closed, you can still feel the warmth. Only it's not warmth from a fire, but… you."

He gave her a curious sort of look, raising his eyebrow. "You said you felt that before, at the Winter Palace."

"I thought it'd be different... now." The last word dropped like a stone in a still pond, too much meaning held in such a small sound. She had meant it only as an observation, fascinated by the sensation. But the ripples spread just the same.

Bull got to his feet and let out a long, slow breath, watching her with his arms crossed. "You good?"

"Yes, now I am," she said, and she was. She'd stopped shaking, and once the initial vertigo had subsided, Melora felt stronger than ever.

"You look good," Bull said, gesturing at her armor. "How's it feel?"

Melora flexed her arms and legs, the leather armor moving smoothly and silently with her. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect."

Bull picked up her helm from the bottom of the chest and handed it to her before he worked to put on the rest of his own armor. He finished belting on his tassets over his trousers, adding the final few pieces, and spread his arms wide, turning to Melora. "Alright, so I'm pretty sure I look completely bad-ass right now, but I don't have a mirror." With a gleaming new breastplate and wide, angular pauldrons, he seemed even larger and more intimidating than usual.

"You look magnificent," Melora said, gazing up at him with a smile. "You ready to go kick some demon ass?"

Bull chuckled and grinned down at her. "Hey, Cullen said we had time to get something to eat first."

Melora raised an eyebrow, going to her bag to put away the dragon's blood. "Right. Are you ready to go kick some demon ass, after you get something to eat?"

"Probably also gonna need a drink," Bull said with a smirk and a shrug.

Maybe he was right. Maybe there were moments of good in all of this, things that could still be enjoyed. "Alright then, first a bite to eat, nice cup of tea, demon ass," she said with a laugh, ticking them off on her fingers. "Anything else?"

"Probably should have a piss before we head out, too."

Melora laughed. "Oh for--" She looked up at him with a soft, amused smile. "I'm glad you're here. This wouldn't be half as much fun without you. Oh, and also because it's going to be fucking awesome, and I don't want you to miss it."

Chuckling, Bull led the way out of the tent, holding the flap open for her, and he grinned down at her as she passed. "Hey, whenever you need an ass kicked, the Iron Bull is with you."

~*~

Just after nightfall, the Inquisition's army advanced upon Adamant. The colour of the red hills deepened as the light faded, from ochre to the colour of blood and finally, to black silhouettes against the roiling sky, the clouds lit from behind by the moonlight to form a stormy sea above the desert bluffs.

Their target lay ahead, the fortress a low, hulking shape of black jetstone, perched on the very edge of the Abyssal Rift, built into the side of the chasm. Its gate stood barred and shut, flanked by griffon statutes that shone with reflected firelight. And it was also full of most of the remaining Grey Wardens, their purpose twisted against the Inquisition.

Melora could feel the tension gathering in the air, lightning streaking across the clouds above. She could feel it in her veins, too, in her heartbeat thrumming in her ears. Her blood was set alight, sparking with dragon fire, and soon they would see the fortress burn.

The troops were quiet, waiting for orders, just the sound of shifting feet,clearing of throats, and the clink of armor against the occasional low rumble of thunder.

The Inquisitor looked down upon _her army_ , stepping to the edge of the cliff before her, marveling at the number of them. It seemed impossible that she was here, overlooking this ancient fortress, and about to lead these thousands into battle, each man and woman outfitted in uniforms emblazoned with the emblem of the Inquisition. The standard-bearers carried banners with the same emblem, gold on black and edged in green. It matched, too, the new armor worn by the Inquisitor and her companions. They were all united under one cause, alike in style and purpose.

Lifting her hands, Andraste's Herald flared a ball of flame in each palm and shouted, " _Inquisition!"_

All eyes turned to her, the fire a beacon lighting her face in the darkness. She threw the flame to her feet, and it leapt up from the ground, licking at her new armor, but she did not burn. On her left stood the commander of her army, and on her right stood her Right Hand. And before her, thousands of Inquisition soldiers waited and watched, ready to follow her into battle.

She sang out to them, the words of Andraste in the voice of her Herald:

_"You who stand before the gates, you who have followed me into the heart of evil, the fear of death is in your eyes, its hand is upon your throat. Raise your voices to the heavens and remember…"_

And then softly at first, but louder with every word, the army of the Inquisition joined their Herald in song, thousands of voices reverberating across the desert, an ocean of sound carrying the Chant to the heavens, " _Not alone do we stand on the field of battle. The Maker is with us. His Light shall be our banner, and we shall bear it through the gates and deliver it to our brothers and sisters within those walls. Through us, the Light shall shine upon all creation, if we are only strong enough to carry it."_

As the final few words rolled loud as thunder over the hills, echoing in the great chasm of the Abyssal Rift, Andraste's Herald lowered her hands, allowing her flames to dim, and all at once, everything went still, every voice quiet once more.

In the perfect silence of thousands holding their breath to see what followed, Cullen stepped up beside Melora, and his words rang out strong over the Inquisition's army, "Inquisition! The Maker is with us! Andraste is with us! And her Herald is with us! Tonight, we take this fortress!"

A great cheer rose over the troops in the darkness, the landscape glittering with the reflected light of thousands of raised swords. Melora let the fire at her feet flare high and then wink out..

"Trebuchets! Target the walls and the towers!" shouted Cullen. "Advance the ram but stay out of range of their archers and mages!"

A moment later, the first of the flaming missiles hurtled through the air and crashed into the corner of one of the towers. The stone crumbled, and screams echoed across the hills, soon drowned out by another massive stone falling, and another, and another, blasting great holes in the walls and towers. It was an awesome and terrible sight as each projectile arced across a sky seething with lightning, each finding its mark in the ancient walls that had stood here since the Divine Age, reducing large sections of the fortress to little more than rubble.

When all of the trebuchets had fired and had begun the tedious process of reloading and resetting, Cullen squinted out at the burning wreckage of Adamant. "We'll have divided their forces on the walls, made it harder for them to bring up reinforcements," he explained quickly, turning to the Inquisitor before raising his voice to call, "Ladders, move! And bring in the ram! Get that gate open!"

The fortress's defenses weakened, the Inquisition advanced. Strong, swift soldiers ran forward toting huge ladders that they swung up to hook onto the remains of the walls. The bravest of the troops rushed up the ladder under heavy fire to try to push back the Wardens defending the walls.

Melora watched in fascinated horror as some of those climbing the ladders were struck by flaming arrows, visible only as a bright spot of light dropping like a stone to the ground below.

Other defenders threw down rocks from above, trying to crush the skulls of those pushing the ram. Some fell, but most did not, and the unlucky few were quickly replaced.

The ram reached the gates, and the sound it made when it crashed into the huge reinforced doors _boomed_ across the landscape, echoing through the hills like thunder. The Inquisition knocked three times, and the doors buckled. And at the very moment the door crashed in, a jagged arc of lightning streaked across the sky and struck the griffon statue high above the left side of the gate, branching to the statue on the right. It came with a deafening _crack_ , and as the ringing in their ears faded, those close enough could hear the laughter bubbling up from the Herald.

The ram was quickly pulled back, and the Inquisition's forces poured through the opening, a wall of shields bashing their way past the Wardens who tried desperately to hold the breached gate. But it was lost to them, the Inquisition's numbers overwhelming, and the Wardens at the gates fell quickly to Inquisition blades.

"We're through!" called Cullen, turning back to the Inquisitor. "Let's move!"

A dozen troops covered the Inquisitor's advance, encircling her with a wall of shields. Bull stood in front of her, another line of defense between the Inquisitor and the attackers still desperately pelting the Inquisition with flaming arrows and thrown rocks from atop the walls. Varric and Cassandra brought up the rear, Cassandra's shield raised high to protect the both of them. They pushed hard and fast through the gate and into the ruined, burning entrance of Adamant Fortress.

Sword in hand, Cullen turned to Melora, and she could not help but flinch at the armed Templar coming at her. Cullen gave her a curious look and then said, "You have your way in. You're going to have to push ahead on the battlements, and we can cover your advance."

"Well done opening the door," Melora said to Cullen.

"Keep them off our asses," Bull said, "And we'll carve a path through the demons to the Warden-Commander."

"We have you covered," Cullen replied, and then he dashed off to shout another order at his troops.

"Alright, let's go," Melora said, setting off for the nearest stairway leading up to the battlements.

At her side, Bull held his axe ready and smirked down at her. "That thing with the lightning back there," he said, "Hitting the griffons when the gate came down… That was you, wasn't it?"

Melora looked up at him with the faintest twist at the corner of her mouth. "I have no idea what you mean," she replied innocently. "You know I'm not very good at lightning spells. I couldn't have generated a bolt that big."

"True. But you're plenty strong enough to pull one from the sky and direct it where you wanted, when you wanted."

As if to underscore his point, the sky gave a helpful rumble of thunder, the wind gusting through the open gate. Melora nodded thoughtfully, brushing a few tendrils of hair back from her face. "I suppose I might be capable of that, _if_ I were to try such a thing."

Bull snorted a laugh and led the way up the stairway to the battlements. "Right."

Heavily damaged by the trebuchet fire, the wall had huge holes, and sections of crumbled stone blocked the path below the broken battlements, leaving the Wardens and their demon army fractured inside the fortress. They could not regroup, and the Inquisition continued to pour into the breached sections. The Inquisitor and her companions pushed forward, clearing the way for troops climbing the ladders. The battlements were narrow, and Melora could easily throw a barrier of ice or fire across between their group and any opponents. A few crossbow bolts - or, twice, a lightning bolt pulled from the sky - and none stood in their way, Cassandra and Bull barely having to bloody their blades.

They met up with Hawke and Stroud atop the battlements, and together, the six of them pushed on, toward the heart of the fortress.

The place stank of smoke, not only from the fires still burning now, but old fire, seeped into the stone, a reek of old ruin. Melora shuddered at the feel of the place, looking to Hawke.

"Can you feel it?" Melora asked.

Hawke nodded, gesturing with her staff to the old scorch marks on the walls, the mysterious stains that seemed to be almost everywhere. "No wonder they're doing this demon army thing here," Hawke said. "The Veil is so thin here, you could cut it with a spoon."

"Hold, up ahead," Melora said, and with a gesture of her daggers, she inscribed an ice sigil upon the stone far ahead of them. When the rage demon approaching touched the edge of the sigil, the magic contained within exploded in a shower of ice crystals, freezing the demon solid.

Varric obligingly fired off a bolt to shatter the demon into frozen chunks.

Hawke turned to Melora, blinking in surprise. "Wait. Where's your staff?"

Melora lifted her daggers, summoning a drop of mana to make the focuses in the daggers glow faintly. "I don't use one," Melora said with a grin.

"Wait, that's an option?" Hawke gasped, eyes wide, and she slapped Varric on the shoulder. "How come nobody ever told me that was an option?"

Varric rubbed the spot on his shoulder and shrugged at Hawke. "Ow, how is this _my_ fault?"

Hawke ignored him, still looking at Melora. "So, wait, can I have a sword? Like, a really _big_ sword?"

"I don't see why not," Melora said, tilting her head as she thought. "When we're all done with this, you should come back to Skyhold and meet my friend, Dagna. Between her and the smiths, I'm sure you could have a _very_ nice and _very_ big sword. One that shoots lightning."

"Oh, I do like the sound of that," Hawke said, eyes gleaming with delight. "Hm, but I would need training. Cassandra, you're excellent with a blade. Could you show me some things?"

Cassandra blinked, stammering. "I-- you mean-- me?" Her cheeks reddened. _"You_ want _my_ help?"

"If you're not too busy, of course," Hawke said.

 _"Oh._ Yes, of course!" Cassandra said, a little too quickly.

Melora gestured to the way ahead, the walkway ending in an arch, and beyond it opened up into a wide area, a massive courtyard perched on the edge of the Abyssal Rift, built into the side of the chasm itself.

And above the center of the courtyard, a huge gash in the Veil flooded the space with sickly green light, shifting and crackling. The rift was _immense,_ and with every moment, it seemed to pulsate larger, the Wardens around it pouring energy into it. Within the rift, _something_ lurked, pulling at the strings of the Veil, waiting to come through. The sound of it scratched at the back of Melora's head, like indistinct, dissonant music, unmistakably malevolent.

"I think this is the place," Hawke said, her voice thick with dread.

Gleaming in silver and blue, the most powerful of the Warden mages ringed the rift, staves outstretched and pouring magical power into it. And overseeing it all, the Warden-Commander Clarel stood side by side with Magister Erimond, who was clad in long, flowing black robes.

Bull gestured at the magister, rolling his eye. "Of course. Blood magic and human sacrifice, and there's always some asshole 'Vint behind it."

"It seems your defenses were not able to keep the Inquisition from interrupting us," Erimond snapped at Clarel as the Inquisitor's group came into the courtyard. "No matter. Inquisitor! My master thought you might come here. He sent this, to welcome you!"

He took his staff in hand and with a flourish, tapped it three times upon the stone at his feet, its focus spitting red sparks that swirled into the air high above their heads.

It seemed for a moment as if nothing had happened. Over the courtyard, the rift still gaped, its light blindingly bright, Warden mages feeding it still. But the Magister looked past it, lifting his face up to the sky with a broad smile.

Melora glanced up, too, just as great black wings dipped beneath the clouds above, followed by a gleaming, serpentine body and a pointed, skeletal head. With an earsplitting screech that echoed across the landscape, the archdemon announced its arrival. For a moment, there was a sudden silence as the fighting on the walls stopped, Warden and Inquisition alike looking up to stare in horror at the archdemon approaching. It circled the fortress, and then descended upon the central tower, its tattered wings blowing great gusts of wind upon the courtyard. Its talons grasped at the old stone, crumbling beneath its claws, and the Grey Warden flag flying atop the tower toppled, falling to the courtyard below with a clatter. The archdemon snapped and snarled, eyes gleaming red and staring down at them there in the courtyard.

Warden-Commander Clarel turned to Magister Erimond, her eyes wide with horror. "That is an archdemon!" she cried.

"Good thing it's on our side, hm?" Erimond replied with a grin.

"No!" shouted Clarel, backing away from Erimond, shaking her head as if she could deny what she saw before her. "That is one of the Old Gods, tainted by the Blight. I am a _Grey Warden!"_

Erimond rolled his eyes, sighing heavily, as if this were all so wearisome. "A Grey Warden who has been summoning demons using blood magic and human sacrifice. I think it's hardly time to try taking the high road _now_ , don't you?"

"That was to stop the Blights! But this creature _is_ the Blight!"

Magister Erimond shrugged, staff still in hand, and he looked more bored than concerned with how all this was going. "Would you prefer I let the Inquisition kill all your Grey Wardens, then?"

Chest heaving, Warden-Commander Clarel looked around at the scene before her, at the Wardens sacrificed for their blood, at the Warden mages whose eyes glinted red, the rift they had forced open, and the archdemon her "ally" had summoned, sitting atop the Wardens' fortress, which was about to fall to the forces of the Inquisition.

"Oh, merciful Andraste, what have I done?" Clarel gasped, her hand to her chest and eyes wide with horror. She turned to the remaining Wardens who had not fallen under the spell and shouted, "Help the Inquisitor!"

"You're making a mistake, Clarel!" snarled Erimond, no longer attempting to keep up his icy veneer.

"My mistake was trusting you!" Clarel shouted back, and she swung her own staff, flicking a bolt of lighting that caught Erimond in the thigh.

Erimond fell to the ground, clutching his leg and screaming.

And there was yet more screaming, the Wardens cutting each other down now. The ensorceled Warden mages tried to keep pouring energy into the rift above them, but one by one, they fell to the swords of their fellow Wardens.

The archdemon screeched, the terrible sound ringing off the stone, and then it breathed a ball of flame that roared through the air directly toward Warden-Commander Clarel. Clarel leapt out of the way just before the fireball exploded upon the stone where she had been standing.

Erimond was dragging himself to his feet, his gold-trimmed robes still smoking.

"Do we intervene?" Cassandra asked, watching the scene unfolding before them with her sword clutched in hand.

"We need to get the rift closed," Melora said, looking up into the shifting green hole in the Veil. Like seeing something in the bottom of a dark, murky pond, she could make out the shape of _something_ within, but it rippled and writhed, and she could not focus upon it. But it was _massive,_ and she could sense its corruption, like a foul odor on the wind. "Whatever… _that_ is in there, we can't let it through."

"And the, uh, archdemon?" Hawke asked, as if anyone had to be reminded it was still there.

Just as the words passed Hawke's lips, the archdemon screeched again. And then it beat its wings, lifting itself into the air only to swoop down upon them there in the courtyard. The beat of its wings nearly blew them over as it landed with a resounding _boom_ on the walkway near the rift. The stone beneath their feet cracked, tiles broken, and the edge of the railing crumbled and fell.

The glistening black claws of the archdemon dug into the stone as it stalked toward them, openings its mouth to bear rows of dagger-like teeth. Its hot breath stank of rotted flesh, and its eyes gleamed with the crimson corruption of red lyrium.

"Great, Hawke. You just had to ask," Varric groaned.

The archdemon closed upon them, forked and serpentine tongue unrolling as it hissed at them. It had put itself between them and the rift, between them and the other Wardens, who were already busy fighting one another. There was no way out, behind them only the edge of the courtyard and beyond it, the Abyssal Rift, said to plunge as far as the Deep Roads. But as it was, they still backed up step by step, trying to distance themselves from the hideous creature that had them in its sight.

Melora turned to her companions, but before she could speak, Clarel hit Erimond with another blast of lightning, and then Clarel quickly threw up a barrier spell around herself, her staff flaring brightly as she prepared another spell from within the protective shell of the barrier.

"Inquisitor!" Clarel shouted. "If you survive, do not punish the Wardens for obeying my orders. Save them, if you can. Thedas will need them!"

"Clarel, wait!" Melora called back, reaching out a hand to the Warden-Commander.

But Clarel charged the archdemon, and as she closed the distance to it, her trembling voice could still be heard above the battle still raging around them. "In war, victory. In peace, vigilance," Clarel cried, and Melora realized with a sinking feeling that these were to be the last words of Warden-Commander Clarel. "In death, sacrifice!"

The archdemon lunged for Clarel, and at the same moment, Clarel let loose the spell she'd been gathering. There was a blinding flash of light, expanding outward from where Clarel had stood, just at the feet of the archdemon. It caught the full force of the blast, and it lifted the creature into the air. The archdemon screamed and crashed back down in a flailing mass of snapping teeth and jerking limbs. It managed a choked fireball which arced over their heads, and it was a scramble to get away, leaping clear just in time.

Beneath them, the stone cracked with an echoing sound like a lightning strike, and the walkway gave a sickening lurch, tipping toward the Abyssal Rift.

Melora screamed, scrambling even as the stone beneath her feet crumbled, pulled along with the walkway as it turned to rubble in her desperate, grasping hands. Bull had been right beside her, and his hand shot out to grab her, but closed on empty air.

Falling with outstretched limbs looking up at the stormy sky, time seemed to slow for Melora. Above her, she saw her companions falling, too: Hawke, Stroud, Cassandra, and Varric. And further above, on the edge of what remained of the walkway, Bull stood looking down at them.

And then, Bull leapt off the edge, and he, too, was falling.

Melora twisted in the air, wind rushing past her face as she fell down, down, _down,_ beneath her nothing but darkness and death. She threw out her arms in front of her, and with a desperate cry, she channeled everything she had of herself into one wild, frantic spell, pushing all of her mana through her marked hand.

With a snap like the crack of a whip, the Veil tore open beneath them, and all six of them plummeted not into the Abyssal Rift… but into the Fade.


	32. Chapter 32

_"Wha--"_

_"What happened?_

_"Where are we?"_

The voices were muffled and indistinct as if heard from under water, and Melora struggled to surface, following the sound. She had landed face-down on the ground, and everything ached, her limbs cold and cramped, and she groaned, trying to roll over.

She felt a big, warm hand on her shoulder and Bull's voice was there beside her. "Hey, hey, not so fast, take it easy," he said.

"Is she hurt?" Cassandra asked.

"M'alright," Melora mumbled, though she was not actually sure of how she was. She opened her eyes and blinked up at Bull, who leaned over her with an expression of concern. Melora scrunched her face, blinking back at him, trying to get her vision to focus, and then frowned in confusion.

"So we're not dead?" said Varric.

"We might be. But if this is the afterlife, the Chantry owes me an apology. This looks nothing like the Maker's bosom," said Hawke, standing behind Bull as he helped Melora to sit up.

Melora pulled off her helmet and set it aside, sweat sticking her hair to her cheeks. She put her head between her knees to stop it from spinning, and tried to get her bearings. Slowly, little flashes came back to her: the fires burning from the siege, the archdemon, the Warden-Commander… and then everything had crumbled, and they had all fallen.

_No. That wasn't quite right._

She had seen him above her still standing, a horned silhouette against the sky as she fell. Melora turned to Bull, who knelt next to her, his hand on her back. Her eyes searched his, and he looked away from her, avoiding the questions she held in her gaze.

_Most of them had fallen._

But to where? They should all be dead.

They were on a wide stone walkway, its surface crumbling, crunching like gravel beneath the others' feet. Holes in the walkway's pitted surface revealed nothing but darkness below. Around them were other walkways, stairs and ramps and rickety wooden ladders all seemingly unsupported, and as Melora looked over it all, huge chunks of stone fell from a path off in the distance, collapsing on top of a stairway below, dragging it and everything surrounding down into the abyss.

"Melora…" Cassandra's voice was full of awe and horror.

Melora looked to her, and then followed Cassandra's gaze to a point in the distance. Her hand went to her mouth, lips parted in astonishment.

"I see it," Melora said, hushed. "The Black City. By the Maker, it's right there."

"Wait, _the_ Black City? That's…" Varric stared with them, spluttering. "I always thought it was more of a metaphor."

 _"'There I saw the Black City, towers stained, gates once bright golden forever shut, heaven filled with silence. Then did I know all and crossed my heart with unbearable shame',"_ whispered Melora, staring in baffled wonder at the sight of it there. It looked as if it were floating, or sitting high on a hill, its base obscured with clouds. And it truly was a _black_ city, an inky silhouette of sharp spires cut out of the sky. Melora shook her head slowly. "We should _not_ be here. We aren't supposed to be seeing this. This is _wrong."_

"Yet nonetheless, here we are. So, perhaps you can tell us what happened?" asked Stroud.

"I… I think I opened a rift, and I suppose we must have fallen through it," Melora said.

"You _opened_ the rift?" Cassandra said, baffled. "I didn't know you could do that."

"Neither did I," replied Melora with a helpless shrug.

"So does that mean that we are in the Fade?" Cassandra asked.

Melora nodded helplessly. "I… I'm afraid it does, yes."

"Could you do it again?" Hawke asked. "Open another rift to get back out?"

Melora shook her head. "I don't know. It wasn't just the mark, but magic, too, and this is the Fade. Can we even use magic here?" She looked up at Hawke, as if Hawke might know the answer.

Hawke thought a moment, opening her mouth and then closing it again. "You know, I have no idea. It works in dreams, sort of, but this is different."

Melora lifted a hand and closed her eyes, feeling ever so gently for the threads of the Veil. But instead of the usual slender filaments, single strings to pluck at to play the right note, whole symphonies were contained in the possibilities that suffused the very air. And the moment she reached out to feel the form of those expansive options, Melora snatched her hand back, eyes opening as she gave a sharp gasp. She had tapped into _everything_ without knowing that she could, and she recoiled from it, overwhelmed.

She looked up at Hawke, eyes wide. "Don't even try it. It's… too much."

But Hawke had to try for herself, focusing for a moment before stumbling a step back. "Oh," she gasped. "What the _fuck_ is that?"

"Magic in the Fade, apparently," Melora said, looking up at the Black City. How close it seemed, almost within reach, and she felt an almost unbearable pull toward it, stomach churning. She shouldn't even be seeing the Black City. Yet the strange compulsion remained, studying the strange spires, needle-sharp and clawing at the sickly green sky; she could not look away.

"So you mean to say we're in the actual, _literal_ Fade, the place you go to dream?" Varric said, looking around with a deep frown creasing his forehead. "Is this really what it's like? How do you people ever sleep?"

Melora shook her head emphatically. "It's not usually like this. This is nobody's dream. This is the _real_ Fade." Her mind reeled, wishing she'd read more of that book Solas had recommended… or that she'd brought Solas along.

"What does that mean?" Cassandra asked.

"I don't know! This isn't supposed to happen. I mean, really, _really_ isn't supposed to happen. You can come here in dreams, or visions, but that's…" She shook her head again, trying to think of how to explain it. They'd learned about some of this in the Circle, but that seemed like a lifetime ago. "It's like… like a play. When we dream, we're like people in the audience. A… bit of a bawdy audience, I suppose, affecting some of what happens on stage. The stage is the dream, the actors images formed from our minds… and sometimes they're played by spirits. But we're not dreaming now. It's like we're… um, sort of... backstage. We're seeing all the actors without their wigs, the set pieces piled in the corners, and we're _really_ not supposed to be here."

"How's that?" Bull asked. "I mean, we _are_ here, and we're alive, so… Yeah, we're in the fucking Fade, but it beats being a red smear on a rock somewhere down in the Deep Roads, doesn't it?"

Melora chewed at her lip, frowning. "I'm glad we're not dead, but we _really should be_. Spirits can pass through the Veil, but not people. I mean, I'm not sure what it should have done, whether we should have disappeared, or exploded into tiny pieces, or turned into some sort of… weird… reverse-demon things? But we shouldn't be walking around talking and feeling fine. It's… um, I mean, I suppose it is _possible._ It's been done before, by the Magisters Sidereal when they committed the Second Sin and entered the Golden City and turned it black. But that… ah, fuck, that was so bad it started the Blights."

Giving her a sympathetic look, Cassandra placed a hand on Melora's shoulder. "They were corrupted by the Old Gods before they ever entered the Golden City. It was their _sin_ that tainted the City and turned it black when they entered it, not their presence in the Fade. It is that same taint that started the Blights. But we are here now because of you. You carry Andraste's blessing. And by extension, the Maker's."

"They say you walked out of the Fade at Haven," Hawke pointed out. "Not woke up from a dream, but walked out, on your own two feet."

"Yes," said Cassandra. "You've already been here, like this."

"I… I think I'd remember if I'd seen the Black City," Melora said, but her voice trembled with uncertainty.

"Is it not incredible, though?" Cassandra said, looking up at where the Black City stood, not believing her eyes. "To walk in the Fade and survive! To be here, to see this!"

"So, we survive! Good to know!" Varric replied sarcastically.

"We haven't survived yet," Stroud grumbled.

"Everyone, please, just..." Melora pleaded. "I need to think a moment."

She stared down at the holes in the walkway, watching as the edges of the stone crumbled and flaked away bit by bit, eroding before her very eyes. She realized then that her knees were shaking, a cold sweat upon her skin. Would she fall again? If she fell here, would she fall forever?

Melora looked around her, up at the roiling green sky above their heads. There was a hole there, and it looked just how the Breach had looked over Haven, a swirling eye of lurid green. How many lonely, confused nights had she spent at Haven, staring in hopeless fear up at that hole in the sky? She would know it anywhere. So why was it here?

"Look around you, what do you see?" Melora asked. "Describe it to me."

"What are you talking about?" Cassandra asked, looking to the others as if they might understand what she was on about.

Melora pointed up at the sky. "You can see the Black City. Can you see the Breach?"

"You mean the rift?" Cassandra replied, confused.

"Rift? Oh, of course, there was still a rift, the one the Wardens opened. What else do you see?"

Cassandra frowned, shaking her head. "Stone tombs. Thousands of them, everywhere. Like… like the Grand Necropolis, but fallen into decay. Ugh, the stench..."

Varric turned and stared at Cassandra. "It's caves. Wet, cold, dark, bugs everywhere. I can see the rift and the Black City through holes that go to the sky, like… chimneys, I guess, but there's no way out."

Melora turned to Bull, and he let out a long sigh before her grumbled, "Fog. Hard to see anything in it."

Swallowing hard, Melora said, "Alright. Um. And I'm guessing we're all pretty unanimous on this all looking really, really scary?"

There was a murmur between the others, and Melora nodded thoughtfully before she said, "Then this part of the Fade is controlled by a fear demon. Probably that huge one we saw through the rift. It's… it's going to try to use our own fears against us."

"Oh, _fantastic,"_ Varric grumbled.

Melora looked up at the sky, gazing out at the Black City, and that screaming feeling of _wrongness_ in the back of her head wouldn't stop. She wanted to run, to flee, but where could she go?

But deep within, beneath the terror that welled up inside her, there was still a smoldering coal of flame. Melora seized upon it, feeling the thrumming power that flowed through her blood, and though she had suppressed it before, she now let it take hold of her. A small part in the back of her mind wondered at what might be the consequence of using dragon's blood while in the Fade, but she had no choice in that now.

She took a deep breath, and when she let it out, she could see smoke rising from her nostrils. "First thing," she said, "Don't get possessed. Only the _very_ strongest demons can get in without being invited. Accept nothing from anyone, make no decisions, no deals, _nothing_. I don't know what we might encounter, if we're going to fight it with weapons or words or… The rules are different here than in dreams and I don't-- I'm sorry, they never taught us this in the Circle."

The words poured from her in a rush as Melora tried desperately to remember her training. So much of this, though, they hadn't prepared her for, and this was _far_ outside the focus of most magical texts.

"Hawke? Any ideas?" Melora asked.

Hawke raked a hand back over her hair and shrugged helplessly. "I wish I knew more, but, well, I can make things go _boom_ and tell demons to go fuck themselves, but I'm not one for the finer points of theory."

Melora gave a shaky sigh and nodded. "Alright. Um… Shit, shit, what else…"

"Breathe. Think it through. You've got this," Bull said softly from over her shoulder.

"We've all seen each other, been within sight of each other since we fell?" Melora asked them all.

Varric glanced at the others and said, "Yeah, so?"

"Cassandra, Varric, hold onto each other," Melora said, gesturing to them. "Hawke and Stroud, you too. Join hands. Take your gloves off. Physical contact, and don't let go, not for anything."

Melora yanked off her fingerless gloves and reached out to Bull, who slipped her hand into his, giving her a confused look. She flicked her tongue over her lips, and explained, "A fear demon can twist your mind, your perceptions. But we're not all seeing the same thing. We have to know if we can trust what we see or not. So hold onto each other. Not a rope, not holding their belt, but actual living skin. Don't let go, not even for a moment."

"What happens if we let go?" Varric asked, sounding as if he didn't want to hear the answer.

Melora looked around at them, taking a deep breath. "This place can affect what we see. It likely can affect what we feel and hear, like we're dreaming, only we're not. If we hold onto each other, then we each know that the person at the end of our arm is real. If you let go… there's no way of knowing if _anything_ here is real."

"Right," Varric said, gesturing with his free hand, "But you're holding onto Bull. How do I know if _you're_ real?"

"Because he'll tell you I am?" Melora said.

"But what if you're _both_ not real?" Varric asked. "Or if one of you says you're real and the other one doesn't? Is this like one of those logic puzzles where one's lying and you have to figure out which? I was always terrible at those."

"Look, I don't know, it's all I could think of. We could _all_ link hands, but that's going to get a bit unwieldy. Just… be skeptical, alright? Of everything, except who you're holding onto."

Cassandra was frowning as she said,, "The demon they were trying to summon was immense. How are we not seeing it, if it's affecting us?"

"We're… in it, and it's in us. This whole area… it _is_ the demon. The line between thing and _thing_ is blurry here. At least, it is when dreaming in the Fade. So I think it's the same now, only perhaps more so? Or not at all. Shit. I don't know, I'm just speculating." Melora sighed. "Solas would know."

"Sooo… we're _in_ a demon?" Bull asked, grimacing.

"Yes. No. We're… look, it's the _Fade_ ," Melora tried to explain. "We're not even all seeing the same thing right now. Don't overthink it. In fact, try not to think too hard about anything. The longer we stand around here trying to figure it out, the longer this thing has to pry into our minds. Solas said once that places physically correspond between the waking world and the Fade. The rift I opened was unstable, and closed after us. But the one the Wardens opened has been up for more than a day, with the Wardens pouring all manner of blood magic into it, to widen and stabilize it, and it's still open. We fell very far down, so we need to go up. I'm assuming we'll all get roughly the same terrain, even if it looks different, but just… be on your guard. Confer with each other, confirm everything."

She glanced around at the rest of them, to make sure they understood. None of them seemed at all certain about this plan.

"Well, we're not doing any good just standing around here," Varric said. "Let's go."

Warily, the six of them headed off in the direction of the rift in the sky. Fingers laced together, each pair held tight to each other, looking around and each seeing something different and terrifying. They moved cautiously, and Melora had to force herself to place one foot in front of the other on the unstable walkway, looking down only enough to make sure she didn't step right in one of the many gaping holes beneath her feet. If the others weren't seeing holes, were they really there? She watched their feet, wondering what would happen if one of them stepped in a hole, yet they all seemed to step only on solid ground, the effect uncanny once she had noticed it.

"You alright?" Bull asked her quietly.

"Oh, I'm _wonderful_ ," she replied at a whisper. "You?"

Bull gave a slight shake of his head. "I keep thinking I'm seeing crap moving in the fog, but it's always just out of the corner of my eye."

"How far can you see?"

"Uh, I dunno, ten, fifteen paces maybe."

"Well, the air is clear for me much further than that, and I see nothing moving around a dozen paces out. Or at all." Beyond the tangle of crumbling walkways, there was nothing but a "sky" filled with black clouds, streaked with sickly green.

"So this thing's messing with me," Bull said.

"It's messing with all of us. And this is just the beginning. The demon was near the rift. Well, that is, if a semi-corporeal entity can be said to be 'near' anything. But we'll be getting closer to it. That may make it more powerful. I don't know."

" _Great."_ Bull rolled his eye, and then put on a terrible Tevinter accent for a moment before switching back to his regular voice, " _'Hey, chief, let's join the Inquisition! Fight good fights for a good cause!'_ 'I dunno, Krem. I hear there are demons.' _'Ah, don't worry about the demons, chief! I'm sure we won't see many!' …_ And now we're right up a demon's asshole!"

Melora cracked a smile. "Wow, your Krem impression is _awful._ And you're blaming him?"

"You bet your ass I am. This is all the little Vint's fault."

"Funny, I distinctly remember him saying that joining the Inquisition was your idea."

"Yeah, he likes to talk me up. But no, _clearly_ this is Krem's fault, and when I get back to Skyhold I'm gonna--"

"--Hug the stuffing out of him, and you know it," Melora interrupted, but softly. His hand was sweaty around hers, and she squeezed his fingers reassuringly as she said, "I've got you. We can do this."

"You telling me that, or yourself?" Bull asked her, but it was with a slight smile.

"A little of both," she replied, and a thought struck her. For a brief moment just then, talking about Krem with Bull, she'd stopped being afraid. Melora glanced over at the others and asked, "Ah, um, so, Cassandra, tell us, what colour and type of underthings does Varric wear?"

 _"Excuse me?!"_ Cassandra spluttered, turning to stare at Melora.

Varric was already laughing at her reaction, covering his mouth with his free hand and trying to avoid Cassandra's jabbing elbow.

"Every demon, the source of its power has its opposite, and if you embrace its opposite, you can lessen the demon's hold on you. We learned this in the Circle, as defense from possession. Laughter is the antidote to fear. Amusing stories, stupid jokes, dumb songs about tits, it doesn't matter. So. Cassandra. Answer the question. If you know the answer, that is," Melora said, forcing herself to smile.

Cassandra pressed her lips together, cheeks flushed.

"I'm surprised you all don't already know," Varric said with a smirk. "Not like I'm exactly in the habit of hiding my laundry when it's hung to dry."

"I swear, if you make a joke about being hung right now, I'll--" Cassandra muttered at him, and before she could even finish her sentence, Melora, Bull, and Hawke were snorting with laughter. Mouth twisting into a smirk, Cassandra huffed, "Oh, shut up!"

"Well!" exclaimed Varric, grinning. "I didn't think you were one to kiss and tell, Seeker, but if you want to extol the virtues of my--"

"Most Holy!" cried Cassandra.

"We're naming it now? Not what I'd have gone with but--"

"No, look!" Cassandra pointed, and all of them followed the line of her arm to see… "Divine Justinia?"

A figure stood a short distance ahead, dressed in long white and crimson robes trimmed with ornate gold, a tall, flared headdress upon her head. She nodded to the six approaching her and said in a rich, calm voice with an Orlesian accent, "I greet you, Inquisitor. And you, Warden. And you, Champion. And you, my dear Cassandra."

Cassandra stared, perplexed. "It can't be."

"Is that what she looked like?" Hawke asked. "I know she hated me, but we never met."

Cassandra hadn't taken her eyes from the thing that looked like the Divine, and she said slowly, "It looks like her. It sounds like her. And… it is said the souls of the dead pass through the Fade and sometimes linger, but… We know the spirits lie. Be wary."

"The Divine is dead. That must be a spirit. Or a demon," scoffed Stroud.

"You think my survival impossible, yet here you stand in the Fade yourselves. In truth, proving my existence either way would require time we do not have," said the thing that looked like the Divine, her voice calm and patient.

"What do you want?" Melora demanded.

"To help you," came the placid reply. "That is all."

"That's not good enough," Melora said. "I know enough to not blindly trust a creature in the Fade, no matter how benevolent it may seem. You could be a demon come to trick us. Or just an echo of the Divine, or a spirit having taken her form, like Cole. Which is it?"

"Our world is never that simple. What if the answer is none of those things? Or all of them?"

Melora tilted her head, eyes narrowed. This was a concept she was well familiar with… too familiar for it to be a coincidence that this thing would speak of it. "Just answer the damn question," Melora growled.

"I am what the Maker made me. The question is, Inquisitor, are you what the Maker made you?" asked the thing that looked like the Divine Justinia.

Melora thought a moment before replying, "Yes. The Maker gifted me with magic, and I have finally learned what that truly means, how to use his gift to serve. And Andraste has marked me as her Herald, given me the power to heal these tears in the Veil. I am Inquisitor, because I was meant to be. So. What the fuck are _you?"_

"I am... here to help you. You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor," the Divine said.

"I was made Inquisitor months after the Conclave. The real Divine could not know that."

"I know because I have examined memories like yours, stolen by the demon that serves Corypheus." The thing that looked like the Divine took a step toward Melora, and Bull pulled Melora several steps back as it continued to speak, "It is the nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror. Every child's cry as the archdemon circles, every dwarf's whimper in the Deep Roads… the Nightmare has fed well. The false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? Its work. It is not simply fear. It is the terror that you cannot remember, the horror your mind erases to protect you. When old memories no longer make the veteran soldier's hand tremble, it is because the Nightmare has taken them. Most people avoid their fears. It is simple for the demon to steal the darkest fragments. They forget, and it feeds. Corypheus has helped it grow monstrous. And this place, constructed from your worst fears, is its lair."

"Well, isn't this just _great_ ," Varric said.

"It has fed upon you already, Inquisitor," said the thing that looked like the Divine.

"What do you mean?" Melora demanded.

"As I said, I have examined memories, like yours. Your memories are here, and I can help you recover them. You do not remember what happened to you at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, do you?"

Melora lifted her chin. "There's parts of it that are unclear but… no, I remember enough."

The Divine smiled, as if humouring a small child, and nodded patiently. "You remember what you wish to remember. But if you wish to leave this place, you must recover what was taken from you. And that is the truth of who and what you are."

"I told you, I know who I am."

"Do you, really _?"_ asked the Divine, and she reached out her hand to touch Melora's forehead. Bull lunged forward, but the spirit was unnaturally fast.

With the icy touch of the Divine's fingertip, the memory hit Melora like a bolt of lightning, and she crumpled. Bull caught her before she hit the ground, still holding tight to her hand, and scooped her up in his arms. Varric and Cassandra rushed forward, but the Divine stepped back, still smiling faintly, hands folded before her.

Melora opened her eyes, and slowly she blinked, trying to make sense of what she had seen.

"I was at the Conclave," she whispered, looking up at Bull in confusion. "I… I was just looking for the library. I thought the Temple would have some interesting texts, maybe some, um, dissonant verses of the Chant I hadn't seen yet. I saw a strange light in the crack under a door at the end of the hall and I walked toward it. I opened the door and this… this ball was rolling toward me, sort of bouncing. I thought…"

But she could explain no further. It didn't make any sense, like fragments half-recalled from a night of too-strong drink. Melora buried her face against Bull's neck, shaking her head, and he hugged her tight before gently lowering her back to her feet. He still hadn't let go of her hand.

The spirit gave Melora a patient sort of smile. "Your other memories are hidden further in the Nightmare's lair. Terrible things lurk in the shadows within. And the Nightmare knows you are here now. Tread carefully, _Herald."_

The last word was said almost with a chuckle, and then in a blink, the Divine had vanished.

There was a silence then, as the six of them looked around at one another.

"What was it? What did you see?" Cassandra asked Melora.

Melora swallowed hard, taking a shuddering breath. "I don't--" She closed her eyes, trying to pull herself together, but that scene just played over and over in her mind: the strange light, the bouncing ball, and the terrible pain in her hand. "I can't--"

"Hey," Bull gave her a nudge with his elbow. "You said this place messes with you. It's trying to get to you. Don't let it."

"But--"

Bull pulled her off to the side, squeezing her hand tighter in his, and he murmured to her, "You said you could feel me, right? Close your eyes. Feel my hand in yours."

She closed her eyes, and the ground seemed to sway beneath her feet for a moment. Melora whimpered, clutching at his hand.

But she _could_ feel him, not just the warmth of his skin but that strange _something_ more, a magnetic pull and a sense of his presence there. The sensation extended to every part of her, as if her very blood reached out to his.

"I want to get out of here just as much as the rest of us," Bull said, little more than a whisper, so the others could not hear. "The ass end of demon-town has got to be my least favourite place, ever. So I have no reason to mislead you, do I?"

Melora's eyes fluttered open again, and she gave a slight shrug. "I… I suppose not."

"Right. So remember what you said back there. None of this crap is real, but I am, and I'm telling you, whatever you saw _doesn't matter right now_ … You need to let it go for now so we can get the fuck out of here. You need to fall apart, do it later."

She drew a deep breath and then nodded. "Yeah. You're right. Shit."

When she turned to the others, Varric asked, "You alright there, Stabby?"

Melora gave Varric a strained smile. "Yeah. Fucking Fade, right?"

"Could that really have been the Divine?" Cassandra asked.

"We've survived this far," Hawke said. "Maybe she did, too."

Varric scoffed, "For months, here? What did she eat? I haven't seen a sausage stand _anywhere_."

"Time's sort of wobbly in the Fade," Melora said. "Who knows how long it's been for her. Or if the same needs even apply when one's here."

"So it's possible?" Cassandra asked.

Melora shrugged. "I don't truly know. I've studied the Fade as much as any Circle mage might, but Solas would know better."

"So maybe we should get out of here and ask him, then," Bull said, nodding toward the path ahead of them.

"Indeed," said Cassandra, and the six of them started off up the path that seemed to lead toward the rift, a strange little group walking hand in hand, two by two.

"My dear Stroud, I must say, this is the absolute _worst_ first date I've ever been on," said Hawke, cheerful as ever, swinging her arm clasped with Stroud's as they walked along.

Stroud rolled his eyes and grumbled, and he may have smirked a bit, though one couldn't tell beneath the moustache.

Bull's grip on Melora's hand suddenly tightened, and he looked around. "Anyone else hear that?"

"No?" said Varric, glancing over at Bull with a frown.

Bull grunted, peering about and trying to find the source of the sound.

Melora gave Bull's hand a little tug to get his attention. "Hey," she said softly. "Still foggy?"

"Yeah."

"What did you hear?"

Bull shook his head, not wanting to say, but when she continued to just look at him expectantly, he huffed a breath through his nose and said, "Crying, far off, somewhere in the fog."

"It's not real," Melora said.

"Yeah, I know that," Bull snapped. "Doesn't stop it from being creepy as shit."

She frowned up at him for a moment before asking. "Is it still-- Did it stop?"

"No. Just… keeps going, and I can't tell where it's coming from. Seems to move around. Sounds… scared and alone." Bull kept looking around, glaring into the fog, and his voice was a gruff rumble. "This place is _shitty."_

"Yes. It is," she agreed, pulling him along with her. "The less time we're here, the better."

Stroud was rubbing at his forehead with his free hand, and he muttered, "Foul creature is putting the Calling in my head. It's stronger now than before. I can almost make out what it's saying…"

Hawke said something to Stroud, too quiet for Melora to hear, but he nodded in understanding and seemed to calm.

"Varric, Cassandra, are you two alright?" Melora asked.

"Oh, well, I'm _fantastic,"_ Varric said. "I'm gonna build a vacation home here."

"Still a sarcastic pain in the ass, so you can't be too far gone," said Hawke.

Ahead of them, Varric gave a sudden shout of dismay, lurching forward before falling to his knees. "Hawke!" he cried, reaching out a hand toward a very confused Hawke. "Ah, shit, no!"

Hawke jumped, startled. "What?! What'd I do?"

But Varric didn't seem to hear her, and though he looked disbelieving in her direction, he seemed to be seeing right through her.

"Varric," Hawke said, taking a few steps toward him, pulling Stroud along with her. "What is it?"

But he still didn't hear her, his face contorted in a rictus of grief, and his shoulders slumped as he looked down at the ground, head bowed.

Cassandra crouched next to him and gave him a shake, "Varric, talk to me." It wasn't a request, her voice commanding. "What's wrong?"

"Hawke just-- but--?" He looked around and then back to Cassandra, lost in his pain and confusion.

"Tell me what it was," Cassandra commanded.

"I didn't see the trap. I should've seen it, and Hawke, she--" Varric trailed off, his voice cracking.

Cassandra looked into his eyes, holding his gaze with hers and said very firmly, "There was no trap. Hawke is alive. She's standing about five paces to our left." Cassandra looked up briefly at Hawke. "She's fine, and she looks very concerned about you."

"But--"

"I wouldn't say I'm 'fine', really. I mean, we are in the _Fade,"_ said Hawke, and Varric turned to the sound of her voice, eyes wide. For a moment, he could only stare up at her, unable to reconcile what he now saw with what he had just experienced.

"Oh, shit," Varric gasped with relief, stumbling to his feet with Cassandra in tow, and he threw his free arm round Hawke's waist, hugging her tight.

Hawke hugged his shoulders reassuringly, smiling down at him. "Come, now. You think I'd go from something as simple as a missed trap? The stew at the Hanged Man didn't kill me, so I'm almost certain I'm immortal."

"This place is the worst," groaned Varric, face muffled against Hawke's armor, and then he released her, looking sheepish. "Well, this is… a unique combination of horrifying and embarrassing."

"It's demons fucking with you," Bull said to Varric. "Don't be embarassed. Get pissed."

Varric frowned, nodding slowly, and he clenched his jaw a moment before saying, "Never been so glad to be a dwarf. If I never see the Fade again, it'll be too soon."

"Let's just-- Wait, what's that?" Cassandra started, but then she took a step back, reaching for her sword.

"I hear something too," Melora said.

"As do I," said Stroud.

There was _something_ coming, a rumbling like many footsteps. Cassandra drew her blade, standing ready.

Stroud's sword arm free, he drew too. Hawke lifted her staff, though she did not charge the focus, and Melora took out one of her daggers.

"My axe isn't gonna work with one hand," Bull said. He nodded to Melora, eyeing the other dagger still at her hip. "Hey, uh, mind if I borrow that?"

Melora offered him the one in her hand. "It's not as though I can use both right now."

Bull leaned down to take the blade. He caught her eyes as he did, a long look passing between them. "Whatever comes," he said softly, "I'm not letting go."

And between the look on his face, and the seriousness of his voice, Melora knew Bull meant it. She'd fallen into the abyss, and he had followed her.

"Neither am I," she replied, squeezing at his fingers.

Bull gave her the slightest of smiles, and looked down at the dagger she'd given him. Sized for Melora, it looked comically small in his huge hand, like a toy rather than a weapon. But the blade was wickedly sharp, and his hands could be deadly even without a weapon.

"It's not going to shoot fire, right?" Bull asked, eyeing the dagger's polished focus.

"Normally I'd say 'no, definitely not' but we're in the Fade, so…" Melora shrugged, taking out her other dagger. "Perhaps it might."

"Greaaaat," said Bull.

"Uh, I'm not gonna be able to shoot one-handed either," Varric said with some urgency, "And looks like we're all out of extra blades."

"Then take my shield," Cassandra said, turning her back to him.

Varric reached up and took the shield from Cassandra's back, hoisting it onto his arm and giving it an experimental wave in the air. "Oof, this thing weighs a ton. No wonder you've got better arms than me." Then he looked up at her, a concerned frown on his face. "Seeker…" he started to say, his voice soft.

Cassandra narrowed her eyes and said, "No. Don't you--" Squaring her shoulders, Cassandra lifted her sword and looked away from him. She wasn't going to let this be the end for either of them, and she wasn't going to say goodbye. "We're alive, and we're going to stay that way."

"It's getting closer," said Hawke. The sound was low and irregular, a thunderous echo that seemed to be coming from everywhere.

"Can any of you see it?" Bull asked, looking around helplessly.

"There!" Cassandra shouted, pointing with her sword. "It's… Oh, Maker!"

Cassandra recoiled in horror, and Melora had to crane her neck to look around those standing in front.

Coming toward them were… people? They looked like ordinary people, dressed in the common clothes of farmers and laborers, aprons tied around patched smocks. They were running, feet pounding across the crumbling stone, fleeing in mortal terror as if something pursued them.

"Wha--" gasped Melora.

"What, what is it?"

"Lesser demons!" cried Hawke. "Servants of the Nightmare!"

"How far?" Bull demanded. "I still can't see more than a dozen paces."

"I don't know, _some?_ Closing fast!" Melora answered.

"You're-- You're sure those are demons? Do we… attack them?" Varric spluttered. "Can you even kill a demon in the Fade?"

"Y-yes?" Melora sounded not at all certain.

Bull's grip suddenly tightened on her hand. He could see them, too, now. "What the _fuck?_ Those don't look like demons, boss."

"They are! They must be!" But he was right; they didn't look like demons. Closer now, she could see their faces, their eyes wide with terror, mouths open gasping for breath as they ran for their lives. One of them, wearing the shape of an old man, tripped and fell, and reached out for the others, weeping as it begged for mercy, trying to crawl along the ground when it could not lift itself back up.

"I can't--" Bull stumbled a few steps back, shaking his head, and Melora came along with him, holding tight to him.

Cassandra was already charging, dragging Varric along with her, and with a horrified cry, she began hacking at the demons. She cut down two, and Varric cringed as he bashed at a third with Cassandra's shield. Hawke and Stroud rushed forward to attack, too.

Melora stumbled back against Bull's side, wishing she could cover her ears. Those things didn't sound like demons dying, but like people… ordinary people, their screams terrified, begging for their lives.

"You'd better be right about this!" shouted Bull, trying to stand his ground.

One of the demons, its form a skinny young man with plaintive eyes full of tears, reached out for Melora. _"Help us!"_ it sobbed, fingers grasping for her. _"Please, why won't you help us?"_

Melora shrank back as the thing grabbed for her, and she expected it to pounce upon her, but instead it stumbled to its knees, clawing at the hem of her coat and trying to grab her legs, cries blubbering now, wordless, desperate pleas… which turned suddenly to choked gurgles as Bull buried Melora's dagger in the side of the thing's neck.

Bull pulled back the dagger and it fell from his hand with a clatter onto the stone. He stared down at the dying demon, recoiling in horror from what he saw there with a shuddering sob.

Another of the demons ran to them, arms outstretched, beseeching. It looked like an older woman, dirty face streaked with tears and stained bonnet askew. _"By the Maker,"_ it wailed, throwing itself to the ground at Melora's feet, shrieking as it tried to grab hold of her legs. _"Have mercy! Have pity! You're supposed to be helping us! Why aren't you helping us?!"_

Melora screamed and slashed at the thing, cringing as the demon squealed with pain and tried to writhe away, and the bile rose in Melora's throat as she sank her dagger into the demon's chest.

The demon looked up at her with terrified confusion, and then lay still at her feet.

In the silence that followed, Melora realized that the demons were all dead, almost a dozen corpses twisted and bloody scattered around them. She looked around at them all, into the eyes of the woman with the dirty yellow bonnet, and then buried her face against Bull's side. He put his arm around her shoulders, clinging to her for support as much as she was to him. Melora realized he was shaking, his breath a stuttering gasp.

"Are you alright?" she asked without letting go of him, her voice cracking.

Bull shook his head. "No," he said, his voice thick. "Not even a little."

Nearby, Cassandra was retching onto the ground, doubled over, and Varric clung to her side.

Stroud sat slumped with his legs stretched out before him, staring out at nothing. Hawke crouched next to him trying to talk to him, her own face ashen.

Melora looked back down, and realized the corpses had vanished.

"It wasn't… It wasn't real," Melora stammered, trying to calm the rest of them as much as herself.

"It felt real enough," Hawke said.

"What did you see?" Varric asked Cassandra.

"Maggots," Cassandra replied, looking as if she were trying not to gag again. "Crawling in filth." She pressed the back of her wrist to her mouth, swallowing hard.

"Uh, yeah, that is _nothing_ like what I saw," Varric said, shaking his head.

"They look different for each of us," Melora said. "Just like this place. Our own personal horrors."

"Ugh, I don't believe I'll _ever_ be clean again," groaned Cassandra.

"I want to go home," said Hawke. "And that's saying something, because that's in _Kirkwall."_

"Let's _go,"_ snapped Stroud, pushing himself up off the ground and starting off again toward the rift.

Bull stooped to retrieve Melora's second dagger, and then they followed eagerly, all of them desperate to leave this place as quickly as possible.

Melora let her grip on Bull's hand relax, and she lowered her voice to ask softly, "What was it?"

Bull shook his head, not wanting to answer, and he pressed his lips together tight, mouth twitching into a deep frown. He lifted his hand held with hers and swiped at his eye with the back of his hand, and then said very quietly, "It was… a bunch of kids. But… messed up. Like they were possessed. Screeching, attacking us..." He swallowed hard and sniffed. "I don't think I'm ever gonna be able to un-see that. Or un-hear it."

"Oh, shit," Melora whispered, and she hesitated for a moment before she sheathed her dagger and tugged on his hand. When he looked down at her questioningly, Melora stood on her tiptoes to throw her arm around his shoulders, pulling him down into a hug. Bull stiffened at first, but he made a soft, unsteady sound and pressed his face to her neck. His breath was hot on her skin, the metal of his eyepatch cold.

But just as quickly, he withdrew from her, and he gave her arm an awkward pat before rubbing at the back of his neck. "I'm alright," he said, and for once, she could tell he was lying.

They all made their way cautiously toward the rift, now and then one of them startling at some sound only they heard, reassured by the other of each pair. Varric kept hearing rocks falling. Cassandra could hear singing, and the look on her face said that it was not a song she wanted to hear. Melora heard only silence, and somehow that frightened her even more, constantly on edge, waiting for _something_ to come, an echo or whisper, not in this moment, not the next, or the next, but always anticipating it. She gritted her teeth until her jaw ached, and sweat lay clammy upon her skin, as if she burned with a low fever.

But all of them froze at once at the sound of low laughter, and a voice:

 _"Ahh, we have visitors,"_ it said, seeming to come from everywhere at once.

Melora's blood chilled at the sound.

She knew that voice, one she had not heard in years and had hoped never to hear again: the voice of her father.

 _"But our guests are so rude!"_ said the voice. _"Cutting down my minions when they just wished to say hello."_

"Do you all hear that too?" Hawke asked shakily.

"Yes," said Cassandra.

"I doubt it's in the same voice I'm hearing, though," Varric said, grim.

"It's the Nightmare," Melora said as it dawned on her. "The demon itself, speaking directly to us."

 _"Oh, so clever,"_ replied the Nightmare in the voice of Melora's father, that same smooth, carefully-cultivated, cultured Ostwick accent. _"Perhaps I should be afraid, facing the most powerful members of the Inquisition."_

"Well, we aren't here to throw you a tea party, no," Hawke said, looking around as if she could pinpoint the source of the voice.

The Nightmare chuckled, low and relaxed. _"Mm, and the_ Inquisitor. _The Herald of Andraste herself! My my, what an_ honor _to finally meet your acquaintance properly. I've been watching you for some time now. All those bad dreams you've had… What a pleasant surprise, to be presented with one of my favourite morsels to feed upon. But… strange, looks to me like she's just some silly little girl, come to steal the fear I so kindly lifted from her shoulders. You should have thanked me and left this fear where it lay, forgotten."_

"Don't-- don't talk back to it, or believe anything it says. Don't give it anything it can use against you," Melora said to the others, and she pulled Bull along with her, forcing herself up the stairs in front of them. "Let's just keep moving."

 _"I am already in your mind,"_ insisted the Nightmare calmly. _"I can take what I like, and I can sift through it all at my leisure. All the things that make your skin crawl, that give you a cold sweat, make the hair stand up on the back of your neck, every time you have felt helpless and alone, all those are already_ mine _as much as they are your own."_

Bull squeezed at Melora's hand, and she gave him a look she hoped was reassuring.

But the Nightmare saw everything, and laughed softly. _"You can cling to one another, but it will do you no good. You cannot fight me. I am your every fear come to life. I am the veiled hand of Corypheus himself. That demon army you fear? I command it. They are bound all through me."_

"'Bound through me.' Does it mean…? Oh. If it means what I think it means, if we banish the Nightmare, then we banish the demon army, too." Melora said, nodding to herself, and she smiled as she added, "Thank you, my every fear come to life. That's very helpful."

The Nightmare snarled in annoyance. _"Your arrogance won't help you. You are in my domain. And besides,_ Inquisitor _… I know your secret."_

Melora sucked in a sharp breath, trying not to glance around. "Let's go. It's stalling us, she said.

 _"You don't want them to know,"_ the Nightmare lilted in a sing-song voice. _"Oh,_ yes, _there it is. Delicious. Your fear tastes_ sweet. _I grow fat upon it. I could tell all of them right now."_

Melora tried desperately to ignore it, to think of anything else, but its presence pressed in around her like humid air.

The Nightmare just laughed. _"What_ would _they think of you if they knew?"_

Cassandra cast a concerned glance in Melora's direction and blurted, "They're silk."

"What?" Melora asked, still listening for the Nightmare.

"Varric's… underthings," Cassandra said, glancing aside as she spoke. "They're usually silk."

After a confused pause, Bull forced a chuckle. "Well, nothing wrong with a bit of luxury, right?"

"Exactly!" said Varric, sounding not at all embarrassed. "Hey, you want to see her turn even more red? The Seeker doesn't wear _any_ underthings."

Cassandra gasped, trying to smack at Varric with his own arm, and he laughed, attempting to shield his head. "Ow, ow! Well, it's true!"

"You little-- You didn't have to tell them!"

"Well, _you_ did!"

The Nightmare laughed again, as if it were laughing along with them. _"Do you think such simple tricks can foil_ me? _You cannot hide your fear. I know all of your secrets. Varric, I know every word of the one book you'll never publish. Shall I tell it to them?"_

"That book's gone," Varric said, and the artificial cheer had gone out of his voice.

_"You may have burned it after she died, but it's still in your mind. And so am I."_

"Oh, good, then maybe you can tell me where I left my keys?" Varric shot back.

 _"How does it feel to know that once again, Hawke is in danger because of you?_ You _found the red lyrium._ You _brought Hawke here. Hasn't she been through enough?"_ A touch of mocking pity crept into the Nightmare's voice. _"And your sweet Seeker, too. Heh, you even brought Bianca along, in a way. Seems you've got all the women you love right here. I could kill them a thousand ways in front of you, fill your mind with their screams and torment. And I could make you choose which one went first. What do you think, Varric… Cassandra, or Hawke?"_

"Keep talking, Smiley," Varric grumbled.

 _"Poor, poor Hawke,"_ purred the Nightmare, _"Nothing you ever did mattered, did it? You couldn't save your city. You couldn't even save your own family. How could you expect to strike down a god? You're a failure, and your family died knowing it."_

"I'm going to enjoy killing this thing," Hawke said with a sneer.

 _"You can't kill me,"_ said the Nightmare. _"You can't even find me. I am everywhere here. I am the ground upon which you walk and the air you breathe. There is no escape. There is only surrender."_

"I will never surrender to the likes of you!" shouted Stroud.

 _"Ah, Warden Stroud,"_ said the Nightmare, _"How does it feel to devote your whole life to the Wardens, only to watch them fall? Or worse, to know that you were responsible for their destruction. When the next Blight comes, will they curse your name? Ah, no, of course they won't. When the next Blight comes, there will be no Wardens, no one to defend against the archdemon. The Wardens are done, and so are you."_

Stroud gritted his teeth, holding his blade tight in hand. "Wretched beast. Who's the one afraid? Won't even face me, coward!"

The Nightmare laughed, low and sinister. _"What kind of Warden are you? When the archdemon appeared, you did nothing. You let the Warden-Commander throw herself at it. You didn't even try!"_

But even as it kept talking, they kept climbing. Up they went, each seeing it differently, but all of them consumed by a singular purpose: to get the fuck out of the Fade as fast as they could.

"'In death, sacrifice,'" Stroud said even as Hawke elbowed him, trying to hush him and stop him chatting with the damned thing, but he ignored her. "Clarel knew what she was doing."

 _"Oh yes, she was always so well informed. Walked right into a trap, because someone she trusted told her to, that she'd be doing good with it. And she believed it. So trusting. So foolish. Hmm, who_ else _does that sound like?"_ mused the Nightmare.

Melora said nothing, biting at the inside of her lip until it bled, the bright spot of pain drawing her mind into focus, trying to hold tight to the fire within her so as not to be consumed by her fear.

The Nightmare gave a long, low chuckle, _"You think that pain will make you stronger. What fool filled your mind with such drivel? Oh, and so many other things he put there, too. Heh, all sorts of things in all_ sorts _of places, hm? Could you ever untangle them now? If only his touches could have left scars upon you, so you would know where he had been. You are who he made you, and look where it's gotten you."_

"I think we're getting closer," Bull said, nodding at the sky, where the rift seemed to have grown overhead, ignoring the demon. "Least I fucking hope we are."

 _"You will not escape, Qunari. You tried to get away from your people. You couldn't even do that, and you won't escape me, either. You fell right into my clutches. Ah, no. Not fell. Jumped. You did this to yourself. And for what? For_ her? _You won't be able to protect her, and she knows it. Oh. Ohh, yeessss, I could get really hands-on, couldn't I? Finally, a form worthy of playing host to me. I will ride your body myself and see just what kind of pain you could inflict with those fists and claws. I could turn you on her, let you watch yourself tear her to pieces. You'd be aware of every moment but unable to stop it. I wonder what her heart tastes like. Shall we find out together, Tal-Vashoth?"_

 _"Katara, saar-hissra,"_ Bull snarled under his breath, and he clenched Melora's hand so tightly that her fingers began to ache. He quickened his pace, climbing faster, and she had to struggle to keep up.

Melora wanted to say something, to ask him, to comfort him, _anything_ , but Bull's jaw was clenched tight, and he looked around without looking at her, avoiding her gaze. So she lay her free hand upon his wrist, the briefest of touches, and she knew she didn't imagine the quake of his shoulders and sharp intake of breath, but Bull still wouldn't look at her. He did slow his pace, though, and after a time, he glanced back at her, frowning, slowing further

Legs aching from the climb, they rounded the corner at the top of the next staircase, and there they came face to face with the Divine again, standing there in front of them with her hands folded at her waist, her vestments gleaming white.

"You are nearly there," said the Divine, gesturing toward the crackling green rift hanging above them, filling the sky with its eerie light. "But you still have not remembered everything, Inquisitor." The Divine outstretched her hand to Melora.

"Yes, I have," Melora insisted.

"You can say so, for their benefit, but you know there are parts missing, things you can't recall. But what I showed you, you remembered, didn't you? And now that you know part of it, you have to know the whole story, don't you? Even if you refuse to believe, you still want to see the rest of it, and you _know_ that much, at least, is the truth."

Bull stepped forward, putting himself between Melora and the Divine. "Yeah, that's enough of that crap."

Melora tugged at his hand, pulling him back, and Bull glanced back at her in bewilderment. "I want to see," she said.

"What? No! _No_. It's a _trick!"_ Bull insisted.

While they spoke, the Divine stood with her hands folded serenely, silver-blue eyes watching over all.

"I know," Melora said, her voice weary, and she looked up at him with eyes beseeching, begging him to understand. What she had seen before was just fragments, incomplete. Whether it was real or not, she could not say, but it _felt_ real enough. "I just… I have to know."

Bull brought his free hand up to cup her chin in his palm, looking down into her eyes. "You said not to accept anything. You can't take what this thing is offering you."

Melora nodded a little against his touch, lips pressed tight and her eyes shining. "I know. But…" She sighed, her voice a bare whisper. "She's right. I don't remember everything _._ And I need to know. Because I think it might be true, and I have to know the truth, even if it hurts."

"You _can't_. If you go and get yourself possessed--" He couldn't finish the thought, swallowing back the very idea of what he might have to do if a demon took her. He shook his head slowly, jaw set in resolution. "I won't let you."

Melora looked down to where his hand held hers, and for just the briefest moment, she saw his wrist dripping with blood, falling on snow, and she felt his blood sticky under her nails. She sucked in a sharp breath, steeling herself and reacting outwardly no further. Anger flared within her, and the flames dried the tears in her eyes. She let the fire burn, knowing he could see its light within her, and she repeated very slowly and deliberately, voice hushed so only he could hear, "You won't _let_ me? You are not my _arvaraad,_ and I am not your pet _saarebas_. Not anymore."

Nostrils flaring, Bull glared at her, shaking his head. "That is not-- Bah, damn stubborn--" he started to say, but he bit it back, mouth twisting before he said simply, "Fine. But I'm still not letting go of your hand."

Melora's expression softened slightly, and she took a deep breath. Bull was trying to protect her. He was doing what she had told him to, and she didn't want to be angry with him.

But she still had to know.

She stepped out from around Bull, holding her head high, and said to the Divine, "Show me."

"Don't do it--!" Varric started to say, Hawke protesting, too, but Melora had already closed the distance, and the Divine brushed her fingertips across Melora's forehead.

Melora crumpled, and this time, Bull was ready to catch her, sweeping his free arm up under her knees and resting her back against his inner elbow. She sagged in his arms, a rush of sensations coursing through her mind, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight, teeth clenched until her jaw ached.

When it subsided, when she had seen it all, Melora slowly opened her eyes, her forehead pressed to Bull's chest, and she pried her fingers from a strap on his armor with some difficulty. She turned to look at the Divine, who was still watching her too, just as calmly as before.

Bull put Melora back on her feet, and his hand remained on her shoulder, his thumb on the back of her neck. Melora was incredibly grateful for that steadying, reassuring touch, and she knew he must be able to feel her shaking.

"You were with me," Melora said slowly, frowning in disbelief at the Divine. "When I was in the Fade before, you were there, too. We were trying to get out of the rift. We were almost there. But there were too many demons. And then you told me to run, to go. And then you… she… died."

The Divine inclined her head a degree. "Yes."

Cassandra crossed her arms, peering closely at the Divine, eyes narrowed in skepticism. But she shrugged helplessly and said, "If that's true then… this cannot be Most Holy. If she's dead, then this is, at most, an echo of her spirit, but--" said Cassandra.

"The woman they saw behind me, through the rift, wasn't Andraste," Melora said, her voice unsteady as she faced down the Divine. "It was you."

"Yes," said the Divine again.

"Then… all of this. The mark, people calling me _Herald…_ I just was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Andraste didn't choose me. Or gift me with the mark. Or… anything. She was never there. It was just a mistake." Melora looked down at her left hand, at the mark that slashed through her palm, the stupid painful thing that had led her into all of this mess. "Corypheus said it at Haven, but I didn't believe him… No, _no,_ this is from Andraste. I _saw_ her, I remember it!"

"If you believe in the Maker, then you believe he made everything in this world, including that accident. But your mark did not come from Andraste. It came from the orb Corypheus used for his ritual. Corypheus intended to rip open the Veil, use the anchor, your mark, to enter the Fade, and throw open the gates of the Black City. Not for the Old Gods, but for himself. When you disrupted his plan, the orb bestowed the anchor upon you instead. So, you know the truth now, and you can be free of this place. Hurry to the rift, Inquisitor. The Nightmare will try to stop you."

The Divine pointed up to the rift, and Melora looked up to it, into the turbulent disc whirling in the sky. When she looked back down, the Divine had vanished.

There was a long silence, and Melora could feel the others staring at her. She hung her head, shoulders slumped, and looked down at her feet. After what she had seen, Melora was suddenly not so afraid of those holes down to nothingness in the stone walkway on which she stood.

"Hey, Stabby," Varric said, leaning over to touch her arm. "Don't listen to any of that, alright? It's just a trick, trying to throw you off."

"Indeed," said Cassandra. "More filth and lies from the demons here."

"Let's just get out of here," Bull said, giving Melora's hand a little shake, trying to pull her out of her haze. When she didn't so much as look at him, he said again, more gruffly, "Hey, you _chose_ to let the demon pat you on the head, as stupid as that was, and you don't have time for this crap right now. Put it aside for later. Right now, we're getting to that rift even if I have to pick you up and carry you."

Melora gave an unsteady nod, looking up at him with reddened, lost eyes. "You're right. I'm fine," she lied. "We're almost there. Let's go."

She knew the others were looking at her, but she stared straight ahead. The tangled, crumbling maze in which they were trapped was an easier sight than their disapproval and judgement.

 _"Now you know the truth,"_ said the Nightmare, its voice booming, closer than ever, and they all jumped at the sudden sound. _"Your Inquisitor is a fraud, Cassandra. Yet more evidence that there is no 'Maker', that your faith has all been for naught."_

"Die in the void, demon," growled Cassandra.

"You know we can see the Black City in the sky, right, Smiley?" yelled Varric, waving Cassandra's shield at the shadowy spires that seemed to have gotten no closer despite their climb. "Andrastianism's looking pretty validated right now."

The Nightmare cackled with uproarious laughter. _"Is_ that _what you think that is? Oh, my. You have been terribly misinformed."_

"Does this guy _ever_ shut up?" Hawke complained.

The rift was directly overhead now, the sound it made setting Melora's teeth on edge. Just one final stairway to go, and all six of them charged up to the platform over which the rift hung.

There, standing between them and the rift stood another figure, clad not in the white vestments of the Divine, but a suit of dour grey. It turned, and though it looked like a man, there was something subtly _wrong_ about its movements. It tilted its head and smiled, exposing rows of gleaming, sharp teeth.

And to Melora, the face it wore was her father's, half covered in burn scars, one eye cloudy and unseeing.

It opened its hands wide, its fingers long and thin, tipped with talons. _"How kind of you to join me!"_ said the Nightmare grandly. _"Now we can all get properly acquainted."_

"What the fuck?" muttered Bull, and several of the others were backing away at the personalized visions of horror they saw before them.

Reappearing suddenly, The Divine stepped up behind them toward the Nightmare, a brilliant white light surrounding her.

"If you would, please tell Leliana… 'I'm sorry, I failed you, too,'" said the Divine, and she lifted her palms, outstretching her arms to the Nightmare as if to embrace it. And in the last moment before the glow overwhelmed her, the Divine's face looked serene.

There was a flash of light, and when it had faded, it seemed the Nightmare had gone, and the Divine with it. In their place was nothing more than a grey haze hanging in the air like dark fog. But there was a movement in it, tendrils of mist looping upon one another, coiling together.

"I… I think she just dispelled its physical form," Melora said, watching the way the murky air shifted and shuddered as if alive, and she took a step back from it, wrinkling her nose at the foul miasma.

"The path is clear!" shouted Stroud. "Get to the rift!"

They took off running as fast as they could toward the rift, but halfway there, Melora slowed, and said, "Wait, wait! We're missing something!"

The others skidded to a reluctant stop, looking back at her. "What are you talking about? Let's go!" yelled Varric.

Melora brought a hand to her forehead, shaking her head. "No, just. Something's wrong, this is too easy." She looked around, swallowing hard. "Nothing's... nothing's changed. I mean… it all looks as it did before, still terrifying. The demon's not _gone._ Not really. And it's… it's not enough just to get through the rift. This thing cannot be left at Adamant, just on the other side. It was able to feed even without the rift open. The Veil is too thin here to contain it. It has to be banished properly, or it will persist here, even if the rift is closed. It could still serve Corypheus, regain its strength, continue controlling the Wardens."

"Fine, then you all get to the rift, and tell me how to banish it!" said Stroud.

"You? Why?" asked Hawke, incredulous.

Stroud looked Hawke in the eye. "The Wardens caused this. A Warden should end it."

"No. Corypheus is my responsibility. This is my fight," Hawke insisted. "And a Warden is needed to kill an archdemon. It might still be out there, and if not that one then the next one. You train Wardens. They need you."

"We don't have time to argue!" growled Stroud, and he turned to Melora, waiting.

She stared back at him, confused, until she caught his meaning. The Inquisitor was in charge here. They wanted her to choose.

"Can you banish a demon?" Melora asked them.

"Just… give me the banishing stick or what have you and--" Stroud said, putting out his hand.

Melora looked down at Stroud's palm and back to him, and she stifled a small laugh. "It… doesn't work like that. You're not a mage, or a Templar. There's no stick. You can't do it." She looked to Hawke. "Do _you_ know how to banish a greater demon?"

Hawke pursed her lips, huffing a breath. "If you asked me to blow it to bits and we weren't in the Fade, I could do that twice before breakfast. But… banishment is fiddly and--"

"And I know how. The Circle taught me that much, at least. So you all need to go, and I'll stay here and banish it."

"You can't," Cassandra protested. "You're too important. We _need_ you."

"I'm the only one who can do this. This thing was delivering a demon army to our enemy. It can't be allowed to live. So with all of my authority as Inquisitor, I order all of you to get to the rift, _now."_

Cassandra tried to argue, but Melora waved a hand, shouting, "No! You heard me. Go!"

"But what about you?" pleaded Varric.

"I'll be right behind you. Now, go!" Melora said, waiting until the four of them had reluctantly turned and headed off to the rift before she looked up at Bull, trying to let go of his hand, but he held her fast. "You, too."

Bull gave a soft snort and shook his head. "Not a chance. I let you run out the door in Haven alone. Not ever doing that again. We're in this together, _kadan_."

She didn't correct him, and squeezed his fingers, his flesh warm against hers. "I don't know how well this is going to go…"

"We gonna get out of here in one piece?" he asked, his tone relaxed, almost conversational.

"We might. Or at least, mostly large ones."

Bull gave a slow, thoughtful nod, and said calmly, "Alright. What's the plan?"

"I'm about to do something very, very stupid. But I need you to stand behind me, and not let go of my hand."

"That's a terrible plan." Bull laughed, and stepped behind her, holding her hand tight in his. "But I'm with you."

Melora looked back at him, desperately wishing they had more time. If this was to be the end, then there was so much she still wanted to say to him. But the Nightmare was beginning to re-form, the dark mist around them swirling denser and denser, coalescing into shape.

"Bull…" she started to say, her voice thick, but all the things she wanted to tell him caught in her throat. There wasn't time.

He just gave her a small, sad smile and squeezed her hand. "I know," Bull said, nodding. "Me, too."

Not quite solid but no longer malevolent fog, The Nightmare laughed delightedly, strolling toward them clapping its hands. _"Aw, how touching. You think your love will save you?"_

"Nah," Bull said. "We're going to do that by kicking your ass."

The Nightmare was still grinning, its mouth opening unnaturally wide, showing too many teeth. _"Oh,_ do _try!"_

Melora took a deep breath, steadying herself. She knew she'd have only one try at this, and she truly didn't know what was going to happen.

She lifted her dagger and reached out into the fabric of the Fade, bracing herself for the torrent of it, but still staggered by it. If the Veil was a still pond waiting for a gentle ripple, then the Fade was a raging torrent. Channeling her mana through her mark, she grasped madly for something, _anything_ she could use there. She had but an instant to charge it, unable to hold it fast, and she threw mana into it wildly, no time for finesse, unleashing the banishing spell at the Nightmare with all that she had left in her.

Were it not for the grip of Bull's hand on hers, she would have been thrown backward by the force of the blast. Searing white light seemed to suffuse the very air around them, suffocating in its brightness. Melora could see nothing but that light. Yet somehow within it, brighter still, there was a _shape_ , sharp claws and teeth, wings beating to spread the all-consuming light as if it were wildfire.

Melora could feel herself screaming but could hear nothing but a deafening roar consuming all other sound. Bull grabbed her, his arm drawn protectively across her chest, and they were both knocked off their feet, blown back in the burst of energy that she had unleashed.

Then, the light turned from white to sickly green, and the sound from a roar to the distinctive tooth-grinding screech of proximity to a rift. She could not breathe, Bull held her so tightly, and she lost all sense of direction as they tumbled through the rift, slamming to a jarring stop against hard stone.

Ears ringing and vision blurred, Melora lifted her head and tried to get up, but everything was spinning. She coughed, wind knocked out of her, and pushed herself up on her arms. Wobbling, she thought she might fall back, but she closed her eyes, waiting until the dizziness began to subside, before she opened them again.

There was a touch on her back, and Melora whirled, swinging. But it was just Bull, and he caught her wrist before she could hit him.

She looked up into his face, her eyes wide with confusion. "Wha--"

He shook his head, no time to explain. "Close the rift!" he shouted.

Melora looked around, seeing the huge rift which still gaped overhead. And all around, Inquisition soldiers were fighting for their lives against the demon army, blades flashing with reflected green light. They were back at Adamant.

She couldn't even stand, but she leaned against Bull, and he wrapped an arm around her as she lifted an unsteady hand to the rift. She was so dizzy, she could not even keep the rift in focus, but Bull slid his hand up her arm and helped to hold her hand up. Her head lolled, and Bull's grip on her tightened, his palm splayed over her chest.

Melora had never closed a rift this large before except for the Breach itself, and that had been with the help of dozens of other mages. The Veil was so thin here, it was like trying to stitch together cobwebs, and the immense power it required to mend such weak fabric had to flow directly through Melora's exhausted body. And right now, she could barely stay conscious.

"Just a little more," Bull cajoled, his voice ragged, lips close to her ear. "Close the rift. I've got you. You're almost done."

Melora gritted her teeth and with a wordless sob, she used her last dregs of mana to help draw the flimsy threads of the Veil tighter as her mark released a renewed wave of Fade energy. Agony jolted through her left arm, and she screamed again, closing her eyes and shaking as her mark mended the rift, drawing together its edges even as Melora fell apart.

With a final, desperate push, the rift snapped shut with a sound like a crack of thunder. All around, the demons battling the Inquisition soldiers gave an ear-piercing shriek as their connection to the Nightmare was terminated. Unbound, each and every demon dissolved in an instant into little more than a dark stain left upon the stone and a puff of dust swirling away in the smoke-scented wind.

Suddenly, everything was quiet. There was still the sound of crackling fire some ways off, but the fighting had stopped. And then, slowly at first, it began to rain, drops speckling the ruined stone of Adamant Fortress, falling upon the heads of the Inquisition soldiers, the remaining Wardens, and the Inquisitor and her companions.

Melora looked around to see Hawke, Cassandra, Varric, and Stroud some distance away, huddled together with one another, staring at her in amazement.

Running up to them, Cullen sheathed his sword as he exclaimed, "By the Maker! You're alive?!"

Melora looked up at him slowly, hearing his words as if from far away, muffled and indistinct.

"The archdemon flew away, and the Wardens have surrendered!" Cullen said, offering a hand to help Melora up.

But she just stared at his hand, dazed and unable to react.

"Inquisitor, what would you have us do with the remaining Wardens?" he asked.

Still, Melora said nothing in reply, and she sank back against Bull, closing her eyes, so exhausted she could barely move.

"What happened?" Cullen asked, leaning toward her with concern creasing his face. "We thought you were all dead!"

"She just saved us all," Hawke said, struggling to her feet nearby.

"The Herald has walked out of the Fade again!" came a cry from one of the Inquisition's soldiers.

"And defeated an army of demons!" shouted another.

"The Maker is with us!"

"Thanks be to Andraste, and to her Herald!"

Over the patter of rain and the low rumble of thunder, shouts and whoops rang out across the fortress, a triumphant cheer through the Inquisition and the remaining Grey Wardens, fighting now at the Inquisition's side. The demon army was banished, the Warden Mages returned to their own free will. Swords raised high, those still standing cheered for their victory, and for the knowledge they would live to see the sunrise. They cheered, too, for their Inquisitor, their Herald… their _fraud_ upon a throne in a high castle. What would they think if they all knew that she was nothing but a _mistake_?

Melora's heart sank, looking at them through half-lidded eyes, their faces illuminated with belief and hope. They all had such faith in her, and she felt herself crushed beneath the weight of it.

Though everything still spun around her, Melora took a deep breath and tried to get up, legs shaking when she tried to gather them beneath her. No matter how she felt, they needed to see that she was alright, to see her as triumphant as they were. Her feelings were irrelevant if she was supposed to lead these people to victory. They would need her to stand before them for the next battle, and the next, and the next… However many it took.

But she had given every last bit of energy to that final banishing spell and to closing the rift, and as soon as she got halfway up, dizziness and exhaustion overwhelmed her. She was just too weak, utterly spent. She felt Bull's hand close on her arm to catch her as her vision filled with bright sparks of light, and in the last moment before she lost consciousness, she swore she could feel herself falling, nothing but blue sky and the outline of a dragon's wing above her.


	33. Chapter 33

The morning light cast a feeble glow through the walls of the tent, first a pale blue and warming eventually to golden as the sun rose over the desert. But the inside of the tent stayed dim, all but one of the lamps extinguished, filling the tent with long shadows. Outside, the Inquisition's war camp clattered with the preparations for the long journey back to Skyhold. Nobody wanted to stay in the Badlands any longer than they had to, and being so close to the Abyssal Rift seemed to make everyone nervous. Filtering in through the canvas came voices and distant shouts, the creak of leather and the sound of metal on metal. There were footsteps, too, but none passed too close to the Inquisitor's tent, told to stay away, that the Inquisitor needed rest.

The Inquisitor was a small shape on the bed, covered in blankets. The healers had looked her over, said she was fine, that she just needed a long sleep and a few days without exerting herself.

The healers hadn't seen that shit in the Fade, though, so what the fuck did they know?

Bull sat in the corner of the Inquisitor's tent on top of the armor trunk, both their new sets cleaned and tucked back inside. He'd gotten cleaned up and changed once Melora was seen to, and he held a book in his lap, the page illuminated by the single lamp left burning. He kept trying to read it, but the words slipped through his mind like sand through his fingers. 

Bull kept his eye on Melora, watching the way the light from the lamp played across her face, eyelids rimmed in dark and reddened skin, her cheeks unusually pale. Her marked hand still spat and crackled sickly green, cradled protectively against her chest, and now and then, when the mark glowed brighter, she'd moan and whimper in pain.

The healers had looked at her hand and just shrugged. Fade marks given by prophets were outside their area of expertise. The only person who might have a clue was Solas, and he was back at Skyhold.

Those questions could come later. For now, she was alright, sleeping, safe. 

Or was she? No telling what _things_ might still be lurking in the Fade, waiting for a weakened mage to fall asleep.

Leaning against the armor chest beside him was his axe. Bull didn't look at it, trying not to think about it.

His brain was buzzing with exhaustion, and he'd never been so tired, everything aching bone deep. He gave up on the book, closing it and setting it aside. But he clenched one hand into a tight fist, and forced his eye open. He wanted to be here, awake and ready, when she woke up. 

And, if he was honest with himself, he was afraid to fall asleep. His dreams weren't woven in the Fade, but his own mind had held enough dark places even before he'd had a demon rummaging around in it.

He wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep anyway, forcing that clenched fist against his thigh, knuckles digging into muscles knotted and spasming, providing no relief but just a different pain, one he could inflict and control himself. Somehow, that made it a little easier to bear.

An empty wine bottle sat at his feet, and occasionally, he tipped a second one, half-full, to his lips. At his size, it was a weak balm poured over a raw nerve, though it was enough to dull him a little. But it wasn't nearly enough to still the echoes in his mind. He kept seeing it all, over and over, hearing those screams and cries, rising and falling like a terrible tide, from a low and resigned whimper to a desperate and pained shriek. Somehow, it'd been worse not being able to see it, imagining it in the fog. In his mind's eye, he kept seeing some kid drowning, trying desperately to hold onto something, slipping, gasping for breath somewhere just out of view. Or were they barely holding on as some beast snapped at their heels, catching their clothing in its jaws and trying to drag them down? He'd seen it a dozen different ways, each worse than the last, no way of knowing which it was.

But then, it hadn't been anything, had it? There was no kid, no threat, no fog. Never had been. Just some asshole demon that'd gotten in his head. _In his damn head!_

Bull's upper lip drew into a snarl and he took another deep gulp of wine, wiping his mouth with the back of his hands. _Fucking demons. Fucking Fade._

Then again… he'd spent the night in the Fade, and lived. He'd seen the Inquisition knock down half an ancient fortress, made even more bad-ass with lightning streaking the sky when all the trebuchets started firing. He'd escaped from the jaws of an archdemon. And he'd been there to see that fear demon get the shit kicked out of it, which had been damn good after all the crap they'd been through. That blast of power in the banishing spell… Bull had never felt anything so immense. He'd been sure he was going to die, everything around them filled with light and sound so completely there was no room for anything else.

She had done that, the tiny woman sleeping fitfully there before him. She'd saved his ass, and all their asses, and brought down a demon army. Even when the fear demon was fucking with her the most out of everyone with that "Divine" crap and putting _something_ in her head, she'd brought them all through the Fade intact and alive. And she'd burnt every bit of her energy and mana to do it all. And then, after all of it, she'd _still_ tried to get back up.

Bull swallowed back the lump in his throat with a gulp of wine, swiping at his eye with his thumb.

There, this was easier somehow than all that demon crap, a dull and wrenching ache that he had grown used to. And he had a deep well to draw on, that wound still raw and opened and reopened, covered and never allowed to heal. It was easy to pick at. All he had to do was look at her, and she was rarely out of his sight.

Bull put out the lamp and the tent was then lit only by the morning light glowing through the canvas. He watched her sleep, at the rise and fall of her breathing. Now and then, she clenched her hand and curled in on herself, groaning with the pain of her mark. As if that damn thing hadn't been enough of a burden on her, now it wouldn't even let her rest easy.

Her face twisted into a deep frown, Melora cried out in her sleep, hugging her arm closer to her, and all at once, she awoke with a gasp.

"Hey, whoa, take it easy. It's alright, you're safe," Bull said, getting to his feet. He knew better than to rush over, having been quite literally burned by her bad dreams before.

Chest heaving, she pushed her hair back from her eyes and looked around, at the tent over her head, and then at him. "What happened?" she asked, her voice raw.

"You kicked that demon's ass, got us out, and closed the rift. And then you passed out. Healers said that besides the scrapes and bruises, you're just exhausted and spent all your mana. You're gonna be fine. Just need to rest." He fetched a cup from the table, pouring her some water, and she propped herself up on her elbow, taking a few deep gulps before handing it back. She closed her eyes, sinking back on the bed, and Bull asked softly, "How's the hand?"

"Hurts," she said, her voice still quiet but no longer so rough. "Always does after using the mark. It'll fade."

"'It'll _Fade?'"_ Bull repeated, smirking.

Her mouth drew into a pained but genuine smile. "I wish I could say that was intentional," she said, but then she frowned and asked, "I passed out in front of everyone? The soldiers saw, too?"

Bull gave a little snort of disbelief and set the cup of water aside. "You opened a rift while falling halfway down to the Deep Roads. Then you banished a demon while in the Fade, came out of the Fade _again_ , and closed the rift behind you, defeating a whole damn demon army. And all that's after spending all day fighting bandits in the desert sun. I'm pretty sure they're not going to think any less of you for being worn out after all that."

She was quiet then, frowning, and she shook her head. "The others, are they…?"

"Nobody's badly injured. I think Stroud might've sprained his ankle when he came out of the rift, but everyone's, uh, physically fine."

"And you?" Melora asked, looking up at him with nothing but concern. She lifted her hand from where it rested on her belly and held it out to him, trembling with the effort.

"I'm fine," he said, taking her hand in his and sitting down on the edge of the bed next to her when she tugged at him. He was unable to keep from wincing a little at the ache in his back as he lowered himself down. "Nothing half a flask and several naked dancing girls couldn't fix."

"I'm sure at least part of that can be arranged, though I don't know if we'll be able to find a flask still half full out here in the middle of nowhere."

Bull chuckled, glancing aside at her. Even after all they'd been through, she could still make him laugh. That was her, no demon lurking behind those eyes. Though he could swear he still saw little flames dancing in them, as if reflected from candles that were not there.

He looked down at her hand tucked into his palm, so much smaller than his own, dirt under her nails and crusted-over knuckles scuffed. He was pretty sure that'd been from punching a demon on the battlements when it'd gotten too close. For as tiny as Melora was, there was more fight packed into her than a hundred warriors. Demon punching, dragon slaying, Fade-walking little badass.

The lump in his throat was back, and he closed his eye, taking a deep breath. "So, uh, how's things in the Fade?" he asked. "I mean, when you were asleep, was it…?"

"It's so strange. It's… empty."

"Empty?"

"Mmhmm. Like it's blank. Formless. I've never seen it like this before, and I don't know what it means. Or what I did to it."

"Not sure I like the sound of that."

"Well, we're alive, and we got out, and as far as I can tell, the Nightmare demon is gone, or as far gone as any demon _can_ be. I don't think they ever truly die, not entirely. But it's not here, and I don't think it escaped."

"I really fuckin' hope not," growled Bull, troubled at the very thought of that thing still being around.

He'd been trying not to think about it, all that Fade crap, but outside the tent, layered under the clank of dents being beaten out of armor and the nicker of horses, he could still hear those cries, the desperate sobbing from a very small voice from _somewhere._ And Bull was so damn tired that he couldn't tell whether it was just in his memory, or if he really was hearing it again. He looked around, from one corner of the tent to another, but it seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. Bull hunched down, looking at the floor, trying to block it all out.

Melora watched him intently with those flame-lit eyes, Bull's shoulders slumped and horned head bowed, bruises blossoming across his skin like badges of pain he'd earned in her name. "You're not alright," she said softly, and it wasn't a question. 

"Of course I'm not," Bull grumbled, but then he huffed a sigh and his tone softened. "Are _you_ alright? Are any of us, after that? That was some _messed up_ crap. I had a demon _in my head_ showing me the worst shit it could come up with and I just keep..." His voice broke, and he pressed his lips together tight.

Melora struggled to sit up, and Bull shook his head, urging her to lay back. But she ignored him, slipping one arm around his waist and leaning against him. She was cold despite having been beneath the blankets, dressed in a too-large linen shift that slipped off her shoulder. The healers had put her necklace back on her, too, and the jutting tip of the dragon's tooth poked him gently in the side, as if reminding him that he could not simply enjoy this moment. This was not and could never be just two fighters laying down their blades and laying close to rest. There were complexities working here that he could only begin to calculate, and he was too exhausted to even try right now.

She closed her eyes and lay her cheek upon Bull's bicep, and as her hand stroked over his lower back, Bull realized her palm was getting warmer, pleasantly soothing against his sore muscles.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, harsher than he'd meant to.

Her hand fell away from him, and she shrank back, shoulders hunched. "I'm sorry. I was just… Sorry."

Bull sighed, reaching out to take her hand from where it rested on her leg, and he rubbed his thumb over her scuffed knuckles. "Hey, no, I didn't mean... Just… dammit, I don't know what you're thinking, trying to cast _anything_ right now. You burnt yourself out and now you're trying to do it again?"

She was swaying where she sat, but Melora just chewed at her chapped lower lip and said with a shrug, "It was just a small thing. I know you're in pain. I can see the bruises. I wanted to help."

Bull watched her and just shook his head slowly, closing his eyes. All the shit she'd been through, as completely exhausted as she was, she would give every bit of herself to this fight and more, and still, she would give her last reserves of strength to comfort _him._ If anyone could save this fucked up world, it was her.

_This world didn't deserve her._

_He didn't either._

But she needed him. 

Bull slipped both arms around her and pulled her close, resting his cheek against the top of her head. Melora made a little noise and clutched tighter at him, burying her face against his chest. He could feel her shaking, sharp lines of her shoulders quaking in his embrace. It was a wonder she was still upright at all, and Bull pulled her with him, laying her down beside him on the thin mattress. He had to grab awkwardly behind him for the blanket, dragging it up over the both of them.

Melora gave a little sigh, breath hot on his neck, and slid her arm up over his shoulder, tracing a line over the back of his ear before resting light upon his horn, twined around him so naturally and comfortably it was as if she had never left. The tension evaporated from her limbs and she sank against him, her body molded to his.

Bull was too tired to overthink it, too comfortable in her embrace to try to protest. Cradling her close, Bull closed his eye and let himself relax, too, his knee and back a dull, throbbing drumbeat in the back of his mind.

He'd almost drifted off when he felt her move, tilting her head up to whisper, "Are you still awake?"

"Mm, yeah, sort of," Bull murmured.

"Can I ask you something?" 

There was a weight to the question that gave him pause. "Yeeeah?"

Melora hesitated a few breaths, quiet there against him, and then she said softly, "During the battle with the archdemon, it attacked, and we all scattered."

Bull held very still now. He'd known this was coming, that she wouldn't be able to leave this alone, though he'd hoped he'd at least have gotten a chance to sleep first.

"And then the walkway crumbled," she said very slowly. "But you were still standing."

Bull gave a single nod, his chin against the top of her head.

"The rest of us fell, but you didn't, did you?" Melora whispered. "You _jumped."_

He pressed his lips together tight and took a deep breath before he said, "Yeah."

"You jumped _before_ I opened the rift."

Bull didn't say anything this time.

"You didn't know I was going to open it. _I_ didn't know I was going to open it. I didn't even know that I could."

Bull was still quiet. He lay there with his hand resting light on her hip, thumb tracing a circle over the thin fabric covering her skin.

"Why would you--?" she started to ask.

"I wasn't--" Bull cut her off, and he made a frustrated noise before he tried again. "It wasn't like I was trying to-- I mean, I know what it looks like, but I didn't have time to think it through. I just saw you fall, and I went after you. I wasn't thinking of the consequences, and I don't know what I thought I was gonna be able to do to help, but--"

"But you still jumped."

"Yeah."

She went quiet, her breath warm on his neck, and Bull thought she might be starting to drift off, but then she tapped her fingers on his ribs as she sighed and said, "For-- for what it's worth, I'm sorry that I brought you there… I mean... Shit, that sounded wrong.. I-- I don't mean that I'd rather you'd have… I just know that the Fade is the last place you'd ever want to go, and I was the one who took you there, and it was awful, and--"

"And I'm still alive now because you did," Bull said, gently cutting her off, his voice low and soothing. "So you don't need to apologize. You saved my ass. I should be thanking you."

Melora shook her head emphatically, voice thick with dread. "No, please don't, not after all of that. It was terrible for everyone, and I'm glad we all lived, but that was an experience I don't want to be thanked for."

He nodded a little. "Yeah. I guess I can get that. Fair enough."

Her fingers curled against the small of his back, light and soothing but this time, with no magic. "And then… you stayed, when I banished the demon. You could've gotten out with the others."

Bull took a deep breath. "I could've. But I'm not making the same mistake twice. Not leaving you to face down scary, world-ending crap all by yourself. The weight of the whole damn _world…_ that's something nobody should have to bear alone. I know it's still _your_ burden, but maybe I can make it a little easier, even if it's just having someone there."

"Is that what you're trying to do now?"

The motion of his thumb on her hip stopped. But she kept stroking his back, face tipped up and waiting patiently. 

It hadn't been delivered like an accusation, but it still seemed like one. Very slowly and carefully, Bull replied, "Yes. You were cold, and you're tired, and we're both all... But if you'd rather I sleep on the rug--"

Her arm draped over his waist tightened around him, hugging him close, clinging to him as though afraid to let him go. "No!" she protested, and then sheepishly, she loosened her grip and said softer, "I mean, what would it look like, if someone came barging in and saw you sleeping on the floor?"

Bull gave a soft chuckle. "I don't think there's anyone in the Inquisition who doesn't know to knock first when you and me are alone together."

_Crap._ He hadn't meant to go there, just thinking it'd be amusing and not considering the complications of this moment. He was too damn tired to walk the fine line that divided them.

Melora laughed, subdued but genuine, shaking her head, but she didn't say anything now. A silence stretched out longer and longer between them, and neither of them moved. Bull was sure she was about to push him away, to turn back in on herself, mumble something about this being a mistake. Savouring the contours of her against him, the angles of her finely formed but in no way delicate, Bull closed his eye and waited for her to pull away from him again.

But instead, she gave a small shrug and said, "All I want is the comfort of your nearness. And I'm not offering anything more than my own in return."

He hesitated to reply, but said, "... alright then."

"Is it?"

Bull took a deep, shaky breath. "Yeah. Just thinking that maybe… you know, we should uh, tread carefully here. We both just went through a damn shitty thing, and if you're feeling half as frayed as I am…" He knew she must be, all that crap with the Divine. "And, uh, I gotta admit, I'm kinda confused here, but I dunno whether that's because I'm really tired, or if this is actually a little weird, or if I just missed this chapter in the Ben-Hassrath book on _bas_ relationships." 

"You didn't miss that chapter. This is probably a bad idea. But--"She leaned her forehead against him and closed her eyes. "When we were in the Fade, you held onto me and kept me from falling apart. I know we're out, but I'm still afraid to let go."

"You don't have to. I'm not going anywhere." He punctuated the words with a gentle, reassuring squeeze where his hand lay on her hip.

"I suppose you're not, are you?"

Bull shook his head a fraction, and wrapped his arm around her, tucking her head up under his chin. "Go to sleep," he told her. "You've got nothing to do today but rest. Nobody's gonna bother us. All you gotta do is sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

"I'm afraid to dream," Melora said, her voice very small.

Bull sighed and nodded, his chin against the top of her head. "Yeah. I know. But any demons who dare show up in the Fade now… they ought to be afraid of _you."_

Melora closed her eyes, relaxing against him with a little sigh. "I don't think I could defeat a nug at the moment."

He chuckled, relaxing too, comfortable there with her. "Any vicious attack nugs come wandering in here, I'll take care of 'em for you."

Melora smiled. "Thanks," she said, but then she made a little noise and gasped, trying to sit up, "Oh! Shit, we forgot to get demon ichor for Dagna!"

Bull hushed her, squeezing her tight. "I had a whole pocket full of the stuff and tipped it out into a jar for her. Stop worrying and go to sleep. Get your strength back."

She made a soft little _mmm_ noise, her exhaustion pulling her down toward sleep, but she fought it just a little more to sleepily murmur, "Thank you."

"For what?" he asked her.

"For being here. For staying, even after… everything."

"Thought I was your prisoner. You didn't give me much of a choice," he said, but his voice was low and soothing, and there was no sting in it.

With a thoughtful little noise, Melora nodded and said, "Mm, about that. I, um…" She sighed, searching for the words, mind moving slow with exhaustion. "You're not my prisoner anymore. Released. Acquitted. Whatever. That thing. Y'know what I mean."

"That so?"

"Mmhmm."

"Why's that?"

"You know why," she mumbled. "You had a choice."

"Still not going anywhere."

"I know," Melora sighed, limbs growing heavy twined against him, and Bull lay there and listened as her breathing slowed. As tired as he was, he just wanted to hold onto this for a few more moments. His back ached and his knee was sore, his mind still throbbing with half-heard screams. But she was warm against him, sleeping and safe. So he pressed his lips to the crown of her head, breathing in the smell of her still scented from the battle, sweat and fresh leather, blood and smoke and under it all, something faintly _dragony_. And all of it _her_. She filled his senses as he drifted off, Bull willing her to come pleasantly to his dreams and not echoes of what he had seen.

~*~

While the Inquisitor and her Right Hand fell into a fitful and exhausted slumber in one another's embrace, a few tents away, Cassandra laced her fingers with Varric's and curled her body around his, clinging to one another just as tightly now as they had in the Fade. She whispered in his ear in Navarran, and he didn't understand the words, but he pulled her arms tighter around him. Varric sent a quiet thanks to the Maker that he did not have to dream, and woke frequently to Cassandra's whimpers in her sleep, her dreams dark and troubled.

And nearby, too, in Hawke's tent, she and Stroud sat with an empty bottle between them on the floor, hands clasped together, one real thing they could be sure of, until the room blurred, drowned in wine and tears they would not speak of when they woke, nor ever after.

The Fade could never be truly escaped, and though six had entered the fade whole, each had come back changed, Fadetouched and tormented by what they had experienced within, silent looks of understanding passing between them on the road back to Skyhold. Travelling with the army, they were as safe as anywhere in Thedas when they woke. But with sleep came dread, especially for those who walked the Fade in dreams.


	34. Chapter 34

"Divine? Really?"

Cassandra's nod was self-conscious, eyes darting away, but a smile played at the corners of her mouth. "So they say. I had hardly stepped through the gates of Skyhold before Leliana pulled me aside to warn me. They sent a representative weeks ago, and Josephine sent her away." She laughed, lines creasing the corners of her eyes, and added, "I would have liked to hear that conversation."

"As would I," said Melora with a grin, leaning against the low stone wall ringing the walkway around Skyhold's garden. The morning air was cool and crisp, but the sun had come up over the mountains, and neither Melora nor Cassandra were too eager to leave the relative calm of this little patch of green surrounded by snow. Still saddle-sore and weary from the journey back, they'd had the night to rest, but there were no lasting breaks in the Inquisition, and the war council would be meeting at noon.

Cassandra's smile faded, and she pressed her knuckles to her lips, shaking her head. "They must be truly desperate if they're considering us."

"'Us'? Who else is on the list?"

"Leliana, for one. We were the Left and Right Hands of the Divine, trusted by Divine Justinia. And I'm told Vivienne is a candidate as well. With so little certainty, they look to _us_ for stability. To the Inquisition. As if we aren't already fighting for it every day."

"You almost sound as if you're annoyed with them for considering you. You're a candidate for Divine. _The_ Divine! Doesn't that at least give you pause?"

Cassandra sighed, rubbing at her forehead with her fingertips. "Of course it does. I understand what this means, the honor of it. But after everything that has happened, I keep having the most bizarre feeling that this is all an illusion, and it makes me dizzy and sick to my stomach to think of it at all. I'm sure it will pass. But for now, they wish the three of us to go to Val Royeaux. To drop everything with the Inquisition and do the Chantry's bidding."

"Well, they can't have you," Melora replied. "Any of you. Not right now. You're too important."

Cassandra glanced at Melora with a roll of her eyes. "Perhaps in Leliana's case. Spymaster for the Inquisition is an important responsibility. And Vivienne's connections and skill at the Game means she can open doors that are closed to most others. I just swing a sword."

Melora tilted her head, eyeing Cassandra with affectionate confusion. "Is that all you think of what you do? You've been with me since the beginning. I couldn't have survived past the first day without you. And I don't just mean in combat. None of us would be here without you. There wouldn't even _be_ an Inquisition if it wasn't for you, and there would have been nothing in the way of Corypheus achieving his aims. You brought all this together." Melora paused and said quietly, "It should've been you, you know. As Inquisitor."

Cassandra gave Melora a patient sort of smile. "No. I wasn't marked by Andraste."

"Well, then that makes two of us," Melora mumbled, words heavy with shame.

"You don't mean that. You _know_ you were chosen as her Herald. Whatever you saw in the Fade--"

"Remembered," Melora corrected with a sniff. "I remembered what had already happened."

Cassandra frowned, shaking her head. "Yet before, you were _utterly_ convinced that you were chosen by Andraste, were you not? The idea that you might not have been would never have entered your mind if it weren't for the Fade." 

"You think I wasn't filled with self-doubt before that? Because I promise you--"

Cassandra waved away the thought. "I know you doubted yourself, but you never doubted that Andraste had chosen you. Don't you see? I, too, wanted so badly to believe that Most Holy had survived, that some small part of her lived on. But the idea that your mark is an accident… How can that be anything other than a fabrication by the Nightmare? Can you think of anything else that could shake your confidence so profoundly as that?"

Frowning, Melora looked down, past the dragon's tooth hanging in the center of her chest, to her hands. Her mark gleamed there in her palm, tendrils of green beneath her skin snaking out around it. "Now that you mention it, it does seem… odd, that what I was shown was so precisely counter to what I believed. But isn't that what the Divine said in the Fade? That the Nightmare takes the memories of the things you most fear?"

"What did you see? You haven't spoken of it since."

"We all saw many things in the Fade that we haven't spoken of since," Melora said.

A long, quiet moment passed between them, an understanding of what they all had endured. To the war council, they had given only the briefest of accounts of what had transpired in the Fade, providing just enough information to assure everyone that the demons were gone. It had taken but a look into their eyes to know that pushing more would be a mistake. 

Finally, Cassandra straightened her back and said gently, "I understand your reluctance. I have also struggled with… what went on there. But, like it or not, we are making history with all that we do as part of the Inquisition. One day, people will ask what happened at Adamant Fortress, and the Fade. We were _physically_ in the Fade. What it was like, what happened, what _truly_ happened… It should be told. The truth of it should be recorded. And it should be in our words, not someone studying fragments long after we are gone."

"You're making a report?"

"A record. A testament. But… so far, I have only my own interpretation. I was there, and I know what I saw, but I also know it was twisted by my own perception, and I cannot trust it to be true. I find that... difficult to reconcile. And I still don't quite know what you did to the demon, or how to word so much of it."

"You don't think Varric would be a better choice when it comes to expressing something well in words?"

"I have asked him, too. His descriptions are certainly… colourful." A little smile lit at the corners of Cassandra's lips, and her eyes sparkled as she thought of Varric. Melora could not help but smile too; it was good to see Cassandra happy. Cassandra's expression grew serious once more, and she continued, "But I do not wish the reality of what occurred to get lost in flights of fancy. I am concerned with the truth. And I do not understand all of what I saw, or exactly what you did to banish the demon. I wish your guidance with those parts, and the ones regarding magic and the Fade."

"Shouldn't you ask Solas about the Fade? My understanding is based on the Circle's teachings, which have fallen far short of how the Fade and the Veil and all that truly work in reality. But the insights Solas has shared about the Fade have truly taught me more about it in these last months than all my years of study in the Circle. I'm sure whatever description he might give you of what occurred would be more accurate from a technical standpoint."

"He was not there, a fact I hear greatly vexes him. You were there. _You_ opened the rift. _You_ saw what was happening when we were in the Fade, and told us how to get through it. _You_ banished the demon, and the demon army. I know none of us wishes to relive what we endured there, but for the sake of history, so that those who come after us can understand what truly happened, I am asking all of us to give an account. Or at least to look over what I can come up with, to see if there is anything that they wish to add or clarify."

When Melora said nothing in reply, Cassandra placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. "But please know," Cassandra said, "I am not asking you to share every detail. Just the relevant ones, and only the broadest summary of the rest. The shapes of your personal demons don't need to be made history. But we must ensure that the truth of it is told."

Melora looked to the gazebo which stood to one side of the courtyard garden. On a bench there sat the Empress's enchanter, Morrigan, along with her young son whom she had brought with her to Skyhold. The boy held a huge book in his lap, reading aloud to his mother, stopping now and then to ask a question. He looked to be about ten, likely born sometime around the end of the last Blight. How strange it must be for him, to have no memory of that fearful time, and yet to grow up in one filled with its own uncertainties. 

"I forget sometimes that we're making history here," Melora said. "That is, if we win, and there is a future. Bored children will have to memorize our names, and we'll be nothing to them but a dusty old story."

Cassandra followed Melora's gaze, and she gave a slow nod. "There will continue to be children who are blessed with the peace of boredom because of what we do." Cassandra then glanced at Melora out of the corner of her eye, smirking. "Besides, I have a feeling yours is one story they won't be so bored with. For one, saving the Empress from assassins, uniting Orlais, and then dancing in spectacular fashion with your qunari lover will, I am sure, be quite unlike anything else they are likely to read in a history book. Not to mention the dragon slaying, and facing an archdemon multiple times and surviving. They will say many things of you in future, but I am certain they will never say you were boring."

Melora laughed, tucking her hair behind her ear, and after a pause, watching Morrigan and her son there, Melora nodded and said, "I'll help in any way I can, though I don't know how much help I'll be. I don't really understand all of what went on there myself. I've tried not to think about it."

"I understand. But people will want to know how you banished the demon and the demon army. How you were able to open the rift. And what you were shown by the… illusion of Most Holy. You said only fragments in the Fade. I cannot even begin to speculate the full meaning of it all, and I do not wish to. I would rather hear it from you. And... I would rather it be sooner than later, if possible, while the details are fresh in your mind."

"Are you sure that _this_ is what you want to discuss right now? You're a candidate for Divine. Isn't that far more interesting?"

Cassandra grimaced and shook her head. "At this point, I would rather discuss the Fade than _that_. But if you do not wish to speak of it now, I would understand."

They were both quiet then until Melora broke the silence with a deep breath and began, "It was a memory that I was shown. Or it felt like one. I was at the Conclave, in the Temple, before everything went…"

They'd never found a convenient euphemism to refer to that moment, that instant that was not before or after. It was an unnameable line that divided the world before from the world that was now, a blink of an eye in which hundreds of lives were lost, and everything changed.

Melora nibbled at her bottom lip before she started again. "They brought me along to the Conclave because of my noble name, they said. In truth, it was because most of the senior mages had all eaten bad fish right before they were to leave for Ferelden, and anyone halfway competent who wasn't vomiting was recruited to go, including me." 

"Your Circle was one of the few that remained loyal to the Chantry, wasn't it?"

Melora nodded. "Most of the rest had left their towers and become apostates. Officially, we were anyway, but Ostwick was full of Loyalists. I had declared for the Loyalists shortly after my Harrowing. Everyone in Ostwick did. But then some of the younger mages, mostly apprentices, tried to… They, um, attacked our Templars, and killed our Senior Enchanter. They thought that without her leadership, the Circle would fall to chaos and apostasy. What they didn't realize was how loyal so many of the mages were to the Senior Enchanter. The tiny band of rebels was tossed out with only the clothes on their backs, and lucky to have kept those. They wanted to leave anyway."

"Why did you stay? It seems as though you would make a different choice were you to choose now."

Melora considered this for a moment. "Yes. I would choose differently now. Were it me, the person I am today, I would not spend another day locked away in the Circle. I would be alongside those rebels, not with violence unless there were no other options, but I would get out, one way or another, either by gaining my freedom, or, um, joining the Maker at his side. But who I am today is… very different from who I was before I left Ostwick for the Conclave. I'd been told since I was a child that I was a danger to myself and others, that I had to be locked up for everyone else's protection. When the mages started rebelling, throwing everything into chaos and we started to get word of it in Ostwick, it only seemed to confirm the wisdom in locking us away. We didn't hear about the annulment of Dairsmuid until later. And the Senior Enchanter was well-liked, a good woman, and the Ostwick rebels killed her with their magic to escape. It wasn't her fault they were there. She was a prisoner, too. Why would I go with the people who had killed a friend, out into the disorder of a world that feared and hated me, one that I had no idea how to live in away from the Circle?"

"But you did leave anyway, to go to the Conclave."

"Yes," Melora said. "As I said, I was recruited. Told, really, on the night before. I was excited, though. I was getting to leave the Circle for something other than a visit to my family. I'd never been to Ferelden, and I'd only seen the Waking Sea from a distance since I was small. And I was going to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I was honoured and humbled. And terrified, but it's not as though I was given a choice. And then we got there, and I realized I was really just there to help fill our numbers, so Ostwick was able to send a proper delegation. They made a big deal of introducing me, emphasizing my name, and then sent me off out of their way."

"That must have been frustrating, not being involved."

Melora laughed softly and shook her head. "No, it was a huge relief. I wasn't anyone important in the Circle. I wasn't in line for any special position, not very involved in the Sororities or with any particular specialty. Just another mage prisoner who would quietly serve her life sentence behind the walls of the Circle, uncomplaining and unaccomplished. I kept my head down and my mouth shut, and did what I was told."

"Really? Not even the slightest act of rebellion? You seem to enjoy skirting the edges of the rules, and there are many rules in a Circle."

Casting her eyes down, Melora grinned, nodding a little, and confessed, "Well. When I was at the Conclave, everyone else, the important people, they were all busy elsewhere. They'd put me in this little room near where they were meeting, but… they were going to be at it for hours. And there wasn't anyone in the halls, and it was quiet. So I snuck out, and started exploring the Temple. I'd heard there was a library of all manner of old Chantric texts compiled there, and no one had told me that I _couldn't_ go in the library specifically. That was what I saw, what I remembered when we were in the Fade."

"You were in the library when… it happened," Cassandra said, faltering over that moment with no name.

"No. In the memory I was shown, I never made it there. I was walking down a hallway, and I saw this odd green light under a door, and when I went over and peeked through it, I saw…" Melora smiled sadly, looking up at Cassandra. "Oh, it's so stupid. Promise me that you won't put this part in the report?"

Cassandra listened raptly, urging Melora on. "What? What did you see?"

Melora huffed a reluctant sigh and said, "Rolling toward me on the floor was a ball. It had lines on it, and at a glance, moving as fast as it was, I was sure that someone had dropped their ball of yarn, and it was rolling across the floor. I leaned down to pick it up, because I didn't want someone's pretty green yarn to get dusty from being on the floor. And as my hand started to close around it, I looked up to see who had dropped it."

Taking a deep breath, Melora paused, the image of it held in her mind, seared there unfading. "What I saw was Divine Justinia," she continued, though her voice shook, "Being held by a group of Warden mages… and Corypheus. She was still alive, and she cried out to me for help. But I was already leaning down to pick up that… that ball of yarn, and everything just…" 

She stopped then, looking up at the sky and shaking her head, at a loss for words. "Everything filled with that bright green light, and… I don't know how I survived. Or how Divine Justinia did, after that… Just that we were in the Fade."

"I am assuming that it was not actually a ball of yarn."

Melora huffed a wry puff of breath, nodding. "No. No, it wasn't. I saw it at Haven, too. Corypheus had it, only it glowed red now, not green. And he said then that I had interrupted his ritual. I didn't know what he meant. He called my mark an anchor. He said I stole it. But that is what I saw, or… something like it. A ritual, and then, when I picked up that ball… Solas called it an orb, and said it was elven. He said it caused… what happened at the Conclave. That it opened the Breach."

A chill washed over her, and Melora covered her mouth with her palm, shaking her head slowly. "It was me. I caused it. I picked up the orb and that's when… Oh, Maker, all of those _people."_

"What? You're blaming yourself for _that?_ That was not your fault. Even if you triggered it accidentally somehow, the weight of those lives is not yours to bear."

"But if I hadn't-- If I'd just stayed where I was told, I wouldn't have picked it up. I wouldn't have been there. It might have been different, maybe--"

"No. You can't think like that. Whatever happened to you at the Conclave, you survived. If circumstances had been different, you would not have. Perhaps Corypheus would have succeeded, and would have entered the Fade and brought about something even worse than the Blights."

"Or someone who was competent from the start might have picked up that orb. They might've stopped this whole thing before it ever really started."

"A thousand things, more than a thousand, had to go right for you to end up at the Conclave, for you to be in the right place at the right time, even if it were an 'accident.' Perhaps the Maker made you just the right amount of defiant, skirting the rules just so, making for someone who would not stay put and do as she was told, but who would go in search for the library instead. That is how the Maker made you. If he had wished someone with a different temperament or skills, he would have made you differently, or Andraste would have chosen another."

Melora frowned, picking at the edges of her fingernails, and was quiet.

"What happened then?" Cassandra asked, urging her to go on. "After… When you were in the Fade for the first time." 

Melora swallowed hard, sighed, and said, "It's… very fuzzy. This part always was. We were being pursued by demons. There were… it seemed like hundreds of them. But she… she rescued me. Pushed me through the rift to save my life at the cost of her own. I thought it was Andraste but it… Well, I suppose it could have been Divine Justinia."

Cassandra's brow creased in thought, and she asked, "Besides your knowledge that she was at the Conclave and perished there, had you any memory or thought of Most Holy before you entered the Fade?"

Melora opened her mouth, but then frowned, not coming up with anything, and she gave a slight shake of her head.

Nodding thoughtfully, Cassandra shifted her weight from foot to foot, folding her arms together. "It seems to me that all you have is a half-remembered story given to you by an apparition of unknown origin, in the lair of the Nightmare. You are the greatest threat to Corypheus, and you have proven yourself very difficult to kill. But he need not kill you if the Nightmare can shake your confidence enough to ensure its master's victory. It had the ability to show us the worst possible things that we would never want to see. Is that not exactly what you _'remembered'?_ The perfect scenario to fill you with doubt, to make you hesitate."

Cassandra paused then, letting her words sink in, and she looked down at Melora with a sympathetic smile and continued, "I have grown to know you in these past months, and I know you are a genuine woman of faith. This is a test of your faith. Even if your mark itself did not come from Andraste, you lived and you have continued to live by her grace. You are blessed by the Maker. You _must_ feel his hand in all this. You've survived now how many times, things that should have killed you? That is no accident. That is the Maker's will."

"How can you be so _sure?"_

"Because of what you have accomplished. You were a prisoner, accused and reviled, yet you emerged from every trial victorious. You travelled through _time_. You've walked in the Fade twice. If you were not chosen by Andraste, then how did chance and no wise hand pick someone who would do what you have done, rather than flee and save themselves? Someone who would try to save every lost goat and druffalo, and who would try to save every wayward soul so long as they simply lay down their arms? You have pulled yourself out of the rubble over and over and stood up again, and kept fighting. I do not believe a mistake chose someone who would take their duty as seriously as I know you do. An accident of fate would not choose one as devout, and whose belief is as deep and true as any Divine's."

When Cassandra had finished, Melora gazed up at her with wide, shining eyes, and Melora tried not to let her voice tremble as she said, "I-- thank you." She hesitated then, not wanting to ask, but needing to nonetheless. She sniffled and said, "So you truly believe Andraste chose me? That I am her Herald?"

"Does it matter what _I_ believe? My opinion does not change what is."

"It matters to me." And truly, it did. Cassandra was the Right Hand of the Divine, not only of Justinia but of Beatrix before her. It had seemed no accident that the two women at Melora's side when she awoke after the Conclave were the Left and Right Hands of the Divine. And both Cassandra and Leliana's faiths were strong and genuine. In these matters of belief, there were none that Melora trusted more.

Cassandra watched Melora for a long moment and took a deep breath before she said, "Yes. I believe you were chosen by Andraste herself. I believe she is with you still."

"But you hesitate to say so outright? Are you unsure, or…?"

Cassandra shook her head. "No, you misunderstand. I simply had the thought that… Oh, I know how this will sound, and please know I mean no offense, but… I imagine that it is easier for someone to be a legend and an icon when you don't know them personally. They can take on mythical qualities that are somewhat tempered when you know someone as a friend. You become somehow like… two people. You are the Inquisitor and the Herald of Andraste, our leader, and someone we must protect at all costs. But you are also at the same time just yourself, a young woman caught up in all this, insisting on singing the wrong version of the Chant but constantly singing the Chant nonetheless, asking a thousand questions, and laughing at your… very unusual lover's terribly filthy jokes. But, then, I suppose Andraste was human, too, as mortal as you or I, with bad days and catching colds, and all the needs and wants and faults that any woman would have."

"Are you suggesting Andraste…" Melora trailed off, leaning in close to whisper conspiratorially, "... _had sex?!"_

"That is _not_ what I meant!" gasped Cassandra, scandalized, but then her lips twisted and she added, "Although... I suppose she must have. She had a mortal husband, and bore him two children. But… only twice, then."

Melora grinned, crossing her arms. "I'm surprised you don't ascribe to the idea that she and Shartan were… well, you know what they say."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" asked Cassandra, hands on her hips, looking a bit offended.

"No, no, I just meant… Well, between the options, a secret love affair with her Champion is certainly far more interesting than if they _weren't_ lovers. It's sort of romantic, in a doomed kind of way. I just meant… you have a soft heart under all the armor, especially for love stories. There's nothing wrong with that."

"I don't get to choose which version of the story I find the most pleasing. There is the truth, and there are lies. Even if they are interesting ones, they are still lies."

Melora chuckled softly, shaking her head, and she eyed Cassandra curiously. "It's a wonder you and Varric get along at all."

Cassandra blinked in confusion and then twisted her lips into a wry smirk. "His version of the truth is often the most interesting one he can think of, yes. He embellishes and adjusts the facts to fit the story he has in mind, the way he wishes the world actually worked. In his stories, at least in the end, the wicked are punished, the innocent sleep easy, justice is served, mysteries are solved, and everything is vivid and grand. I… admire, in some ways, his ability to see the world that way. He complains bitterly about being out in it, but he wishes to see a better world, and is out there trying to make it one. So... I can tolerate a little purple prose as long as he keeps the lies on the page, as fiction."

Melora knew it was time, the subject she'd not wanted to bring up, but knew she had to. She clenched her hands to keep them from jittering. She'd been over this so many times, knew that out of her options, it was best to come out with this herself. Melora took a deep breath and said, "Um. So… There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about… What the Nightmare said when it was taunting us…"

"The creature said many things. I am doing my best to forget it."

"It said I have a secret."

Cassandra's shoulders rolled a slight shrug. "And?"

"You usually don't let things like that go."

"Every woman has secrets to keep. If it was something that you thought I should know, you would have told me. As you didn't, it must not be something I need to know."

Melora blinked, baffled. "You nearly came to blows with Varric when you found out he knew how to contact Hawke."

"Varric may have a good heart, but he is still a man, touched by the sin of Maferath. Men are too weak-willed to be trusted with secrets of any importance. Women are equipped with the wisdom to know which secrets to keep, and which must be shared."

Melora's eyes widened a fraction. "But you recruited Cullen to the Inquisition."

"He has Leliana and Josephine to keep an eye on him, and ensure he doesn't get too out of hand. And he is a skilled commander. Men have their uses, of course."

Cracking a grin, Melora raised her eyebrows. "That they do."

"Ugh, I did _not_ mean _that,"_ Cassandra said with a roll of her eyes. "I simply mean that one must be wary of men, of the secrets they keep and the lies they tell. Magister Erimond manipulated Warden-Commander Clarel into betraying the Grey Wardens and turning to blood magic. Maferath betrayed Andraste out of petty jealousy. The rebel mage Anders tricked Hawke into helping him blow up the Chantry. And Varric lied about what he knew of Hawke's location and how to contact her. Men cannot help that they lie and scheme. It is just in their nature. And even men with strong minds and good hearts can be easily led astray."

Melora looked down to where her dragon's tooth lay hidden beneath the lace scarf she wore. She could not see it, but she felt its weight there against her chest, over her heart.

"And what then?" Melora asked, looking back up at Cassandra. "Once a good man's heart is led astray, can it be redeemed?"

"It depends on why their heart was led astray in the first place. Varric withheld information needed by the Inquisition. But he did it to protect his friend, out of loyalty. It was not done for malice or for his own benefit."

Melora forced the frown from her brows, instead merely nodding thoughtfully. "So how do you move forward, then? Do you just try to forget it ever happened?"

Cassandra gave an indignant snort. "Only if one is a fool. You do not forgive, and you never forget what they did. And you make sure they know you have not forgotten, either."

"And… if it ever happens again?"

Expressionless, Cassandra said, "Then you destroy them. Mercilessly."

Melora shook her head in disbelief. "Why even associate with them, if you think so little of them?"

"You misunderstand. I have no ill will toward them. They just have their faults. It is why we don't allow them to hold any high office in the Chantry. They are simply not equipped for it. It's like… well, I suppose it's much like how Fereldans regard their dogs. They're friendly and pleasant to be around, warm and fuzzy. Or at least, I suppose that's how Fereldans think of them. But sometimes they soil the rug, chew the leather of your boots, and bite the hand that has fed them. And they are easily swayed toward self-serving, base desires. They need a firm hand and proper training by someone who knows how to manage them, and then they can be useful companions."

"So, what you're saying is… Varric shits on the rug?" Melora asked, stifling a smirk.

Cassandra snorted a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand, and shook her head emphatically. "Metaphorically, I meant."

"I'm almost certain the 'fuzzy' part wasn't metaphorical, though," Melora replied with a quirk of her eyebrows.

Cassandra ducked her head, trying to press back a smile. "You have _no_ idea."

"Really?" Melora asked, leaning in with a grin, and she lowered her voice to say, "Oh, do tell. I can't pretend I'm not curious."

Cassandra started to straighten her shoulders, as if the question were a step too far, but her eyes darted away, and she said quickly, "Like a ginger forest, _everywhere."_

Melora gave a delighted giggle. " _Seriously?"_

Cassandra nodded solemnly, still not meeting Melora's gaze, and she said, "It's _glorious."_

Melora laughed with glee, but Cassandra gave her a stern look, and Melora forced back her grin. 

Cassandra folded her arms behind her back, straightening her shoulders, and said, "In any case… I trust you. Both never to tell _anyone_ what I just said, and with your own secrets. If you wish to tell me something, by all means, go ahead, but I would not have you reveal something sensitive simply because that creature compelled you to."

Melora blinked in breathless wonder at Cassandra. She had not expected this, had brought up the subject with a whole easy lie prepared. She had been planning to tell Cassandra about her little stash of dragon's blood.

It was not the secret the Nightmare had been referring to. That one, Melora would not divulge unless it was absolutely necessary. But it was _a_ secret, and a true one. The Nightmare had been right about another thing: Bull had helped make her into who she was. And he had taught her that the truth was a bendable thing, its edges blurred in places, and if one knew how to skirt that edge just so, they might be able to find a precarious balance.

Melora watched Cassandra, glorious and strong, strikingly beautiful and with a piercing gaze. _This_ was a woman who looked like she should be Divine, someone who could lead and others would be inspired to follow, steadfast of faith and unwavering in her duty to the Maker. And one who apparently believed in the inherent treachery of men. It was a common enough belief, and one Melora had considered before. And it seemed, the longer she stayed with the Inquisition, the more it seemed to be true.

Plucking a leaf from the vines clinging to a nearby pillar, Melora tapped ever so gently at the threads of the Veil, and the leaf leapt up from her fingertips, swirling in a gentle, invisible wind in the palm of her hand. She slid down that same thread, changing its note, and one side of the leaf began to frost over with tiny glittering crystals of ice. She added a second, dissonant note, and the other side of the leaf began to smolder in a bright line of orange, still dancing and spinning there above her hand.

"May I ask you something?" Melora said. Cassandra nodded, watching the spinning leaf with calm curiosity. Melora took a deep breath before she asked, "Do you want to be the Divine?"

Cassandra turned away, folding her arms behind her back and heaved a deep sigh. "Surely it was never meant to be like this," she said, pacing. "The Chantry, the Circle, the Templars. This cannot be what they intended when it all began. The Chantry should provide faith. _Hope._ Instead, it does not veer from its course, even in the face of certain death."

"I don't think I've ever heard you so critical of the Chantry."

"Did I not declare the Inquisition, against the Chantry's wishes? In all my years as a Seeker, I did what I was told. My faith demanded it. And now my faith demands something else: that I see with better eyes."

"And improve the Chantry from within."

"Who could do that better than the Divine herself?"

"You didn't answer my question. Do you _want_ to be the Divine?" Melora pressed that dissonant note, and all at once, the leaf burst into a brief puff of flame. She released it, and fragments of ash drifted away off into the grass.

"Why should what I want matter?" Cassandra snapped, but then she drew a deep breath and said, "Varric is Andrastian, you know. Oh, he blasphemes with every second breath, but deep down, he believes. His heart is virtuous. But he would never step foot in a Chantry. It should be the first place to which the virtuous turn. It needs to change. Perhaps I must be the one to change it."

"Why must _you_? Why not Leliana or Vivienne?"

"Vivienne would build everything back up exactly as it was. A return to normalcy before any other concerns. And Leliana would tear the Chantry down and start anew. Either would be chaos for us all."

"Perhaps the Chantry could do with being torn down and started anew."

"The Chantry _must_ survive. I agree, it needs change, but--"

"What would you do, then? If you were Divine?"

"Well, that entirely depends on the circumstances doesn't it?"

"Alright. Let's say we win tomorrow. Corypheus… I don't know, tripped on a rock, fell on the archdemon, and they both died. Permanently, this time. You're unanimously declared Divine and carried to Val Royeaux in a gleaming coach. Everyone loves you, you have tea with the Empress every Wardensday, the king of Ferelden sends you cookies, the Grand Clerics and Revered Mothers all think your ideas are Maker-sent, and you can do whatever you want with the Chantry. How would you shape it?"

"This is ridiculous. That would never happen. Even assuming a favourable outcome, I know change must come gradually. Justinia was a visionary, but she understood that, too. People need time to adjust, and systems must be refined."

"So, what, then? Until they adjust? Would you restore the Templars? The Circles?"

"Well, yes, but it wouldn't be the same at all--"

"Really? Who would watch the Templars, to ensure there were no abuses of their power?"

"Perhaps the Seekers could be re-formed. There must still be some of us out there."

"Yes. Because the Seekers helped _so_ much at Dairsmuid."

"It would not be--"

Melora cut her off. "Would attendance at the Circle be mandatory for all mages?"

"Well, yes, but I would ensure the Circles be a sanctuary, not a dungeon."

Melora tilted her head, crossing her arms over her chest, and asked, "All mages. Even me? What about Dorian? Or Solas? Or Vivienne? Or Morrigan there? Would you separate her from her son?"

Cassandra began to stammer. "I-- I suppose not. No, of course not."

"Really?" Melora asked. "Why not?"

"Because… you are members of the Inquisition. There are mage Wardens. Your service and use to your cause takes precedence."

"Ah, but when the dust has settled, the Inquisition will dissolve. We won't be members of the Inquisition anymore. What then?"

"Well… you've certainly proven yourself, as have most of the others. I'm sure an exception could be made, under the circumstances." Cassandra backed up a step.

"I see, so we've proven ourselves. So some mages can be deemed 'safe' through… what? Saving the world? Putting their lives at risk? What, exactly, must we do? A second Harrowing? A _super_ Harrowing? Or is it more of a written exam? Multiple choice? Or if we promise really, _really_ hard not to use blood magic, perhaps we'll earn our freedom that way. Oh, I know, you could sew our mouths shut like the Qun does."

Hands on her hips, Cassandra's eyes narrowed as she demanded, "Are you done?"

"Hardly," said Melora, giving Cassandra a bright, false smile. "Tell me, what of Tranquility? Would you still allow the practice?"

"You know I believe it has been greatly over-used, but there are certain cases… If a mage cannot or will not control their magic, or if they are susceptible to possession and a danger to those around them…"

"Just the difficult ones, then? The compliant ones can keep their minds once you've imprisoned them."

"That is not what I said. It is a necessary evil. But it is clear your position on this matter."

"I should hope it is. And I hope it is also clear that the Inquisitor could not support any candidate for Divine who proposes we return to anything like the Circles as they were before. The mages will not return to Chantry prisons."

"If I didn't know better, I would almost think that was a threat."

"No. Just a fact. Our lives are our own." Melora looked Cassandra in the eye and smiled that relentless smile as she added, "And if the Chantry wishes to round up all the stray apostates and force them back into their Circles, they will find the Inquisition standing in their way."

Cassandra took a step back, aghast. "You would openly oppose the Chantry?"

"I wouldn't want to. But I would, if it came to it. I haven't fought this hard to see mages locked up again. I will defend our right to be free with my blood, and my life if the Maker so wills it."

To Melora's great surprise, Cassandra laughed, and Melora scowled. "Something funny?"

"I'm sorry. I just remembered how you looked when I first met you. Like a frightened rabbit, startling at every sound, cowering behind me and too afraid to even lift your staff. How much you have changed."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"I meant it as one," Cassandra said genuinely. "You stood up though you were afraid, and you have continued to stand, and get back up, no matter how many times you are knocked down. Now you stand with the power of an army behind you, and you have defeated the Grey Wardens with it. You have made yourself a force to be reckoned with. And for what it's worth, my time in the Inquisition has greatly influenced my opinion of mages. I was skeptical, when you welcomed the rebel mages as allies. But they have proved incredibly helpful in our efforts, and there have been no abominations since they joined the Inquisition. I've seen your magical power grow, too. I disagreed with the mage war in the first place, but I have a deeper understanding now of why the mages fought so hard against the Circle as it was. I have no desire to see a system built up that will allow those sorts of abuses again. If I were Divine, you must know I would work tirelessly to ensure that all done in the name of the Chantry would be just and fair. I want to respect tradition but not fear change. I want to right past wrongs but not avenge them."

Melora sighed, frowning, but she nodded slowly. Cassandra was no tyrant, and she was a good woman. There could be far worse choices for Divine.

The tension risen between them slowly filtered away as they glanced at one another in the quiet that followed. They were both on edge, and they were allies before anything else.

Pursing her lips, Melora said, "You know, when I asked you if you wanted to be Divine, you gave me lots of reasons, but no real answer. You did, however, tell me about Varric's faith. His 'virtuous heart.'"

Cassandra shrugged. "Yes, as an example of why the Chantry needs reform, to embrace more believers like him."

Melora nodded slowly and crossed her arms, eyeing Cassandra. "No.... I mean, perhaps that's part of it, but it's more than that. I asked you what you wanted, and you lashed out, and then you immediately started talking about Varric. You essentially tried to make an argument that it would be good for him if you were Divine. And you didn't _really_ answer the question. You still haven't. Because you don't want to be Divine." The last few words she spoke with deliberate slowness.

Cassandra lifted her chin defiantly. "I never said that. This is an opportunity I cannot ignore, and I owe it to myself and all of Thedas to seek the Sunburst Throne."

Melora looked up at Cassandra sadly. She knew Cassandra's sense of faith and duty would not let her back down from this, that she would see it through with the same relentless drive that Cassandra used against every obstacle in her path. Challenging her on it would only make her grow more stubborn. 

But being Divine… that was for life. And while Melora could not picture Cassandra fading into obscurity and laying down her sword and shield after the Inquisition, Cassandra deserved a rest as much as any of them. She'd been fighting for the Inquisition since before the Conclave, longer than anyone else. The role of Divine seemed more a curse for this vibrant warrior than an honor.

Softly, Melora said, "You'd be miserable. You would be fair, and just, and beloved by the people… and you'd hate every minute of it."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. I know better than anyone what it's like to hold an office you feel obligated to fulfill by duty and not desire. Being the Divine is about ceremony and dignity, being elegant and regal and sitting in drafty old rooms filled with dusty, faded tapestries, and listening to people drone on about problems that have nothing to do with you, or the Maker's work."

"The majority of what _you_ do is walk or ride from one place to the next. Does that make you a wanderer or rider, and not Inquisitor? There are many unpleasant things one must endure for the sake of duty, and sometimes, boredom is one of them."

"The Divine's not allowed to hit anyone. Well. I mean, I'm almost certain she's not. I suppose she's the Divine and could probably punch someone if she really wanted to, but can you imagine that news spreading? The Divine going around punching people in the face. You couldn't do that thing you do where you throw your hands in the air and stomp off. Or flip any tables over, or stab anything. Or threaten anyone. You wouldn't even be able to roll your eyes and go 'ughhh' at people anymore. No more disgusted noises."

Cassandra fixed Melora with a stony look, and said flatly, "I am not a child. I know how to behave myself. I understand the honor of the position and would not do it any disrespect."

"You know there's a uniform, don't you? And it's not armored in the slightest. It's a long, flowing, completely impractical, cumbersome dress. And a very big hat."

Cassandra rolled her eyes. "The 'hat' is for special occasions. The Divine is not required to wear it all the time, and there are various robes."

"Dresses," Melora corrected.

"A dress is what a milkmaid wears to a Summerday's dance. The robes of the Divine are _vestments_."

"It's still not trousers."

"I would survive. Somehow."

"I joke, but you _would_ hate it. And I'd hate to see you wither away behind those tall, fancy walls when you should be out in the world, doing the Maker's work with the gifts he gave you. Your faith is a strong and steady blade, and you can wield it for such good. But it is double-edged, and if you're not careful, you'll bleed for it, too. Metaphorically. That's not another threat." Melora chuckled nervously, but then sighed, shaking her head. "You're glorious out in battle. You're inspiring, formidable, just this unstoppable, brightly burning force. You should be leading, but with a sword in your hand. I fear being stuck in the role of Divine would extinguish the fire in you. You'd have to… to turn the sword on yourself, and kill what makes you truly _you_ to become the Divine _._ You're not a priest or a philosopher. You're a warrior."

Cassandra huffed and rolled her eyes. "That is a _terrible_ metaphor. And you should know better than anyone that the burdens of duty are more important than one's individual happiness. If I could make a difference in the Chantry, that would be _far_ more important than me being _happy_."

And with this, Melora could not argue, because she knew that in Cassandra's place, she would likely feel the same way. She looked up at Cassandra with sympathy in her eyes. "Duty takes too much from us. And gives back so little."

"No, on that you are wrong. What it takes from us, it gives to others tenfold. More, in your case. And I know you well enough to know you would prefer it that way. As would I."

Melora gave a slow, solemn nod, and reached out to squeeze Cassandra's arm. "You have a good heart, and I hope you understand my meaning when I say that, for your sake, and more than your sake, I hope another finds herself upon the Sunburst Throne."

Cassandra's jaw clenched a fraction, but she nodded. "I… will take that in the spirit in which it was meant. I know you and I don't always see eye to eye--"

"I don't even come up to your shoulder. We'd only see eye to eye if you were sitting on the ground," Melora said, smirking.

Cassandra returned the look, continuing, "--but I know we agree on more things than we differ."

"True… though the New Cumberland verses still sound _awful."_

"For Andraste's Herald, you are very quick to blaspheme," Cassandra replied, laughing.

"Perhaps Andraste thinks the New Cumberland verses sound awful, too." Melora grinned, dusting her hands off on her trousers, looking around at the growing number of people gathered in the courtyard garden, trickling in by ones and twos, peeking at the Herald but not wishing to stare, eyes flitting away as she looked around and said, "Speaking of, it's about time I head to the chapel, I think."

Cassandra smiled, looking around at the growing number in the courtyard. They'd heard the Inquisitor had returned, and were waiting to see if she would be leading the singing of the morning Chant again.

"Shall we sing the New Cumberland verses this time, then?" Cassandra asked brightly, heading with Melora over toward the chapel off the courtyard. "Just for something different."

"Not while I'm Inquisitor. You had your chance, gave me the big shiny sword instead. You wanted the Chant to sound silly, you should've kept the sword. So we're singing the whole words," Melora said, still grinning.

Cassandra grumbled, but when she glanced aside at Melora, it was with a little smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I know they're really called Fraternities in-game and not Sororities, but I do so tire of Bioware ignoring their own lore of a woman-led society. That's also the reason for Cassandra talking about the treachery of men... They aren't allowed to hold high Chantry office because they're considered inferior in some ways, but you never see this backed up in peoples' attitudes in-game (usually quite the opposite, people making snotty comments about women fighting). That, and Inquisition really should have been called Dragon Age: Dudes Are Secretive Liars.)


	35. Chapter 35

"Again!" Bull growled, glaring down at Cassandra. They stood together in the center of the training yard behind Skyhold's tavern.

Cassandra drew back and swung the stick in her hands, delivering a solid hit across Bull's chest with a dull slap of wood hitting flesh.

Bull just shrugged it off, grumbling, "Ah, come on! I know you can do better than that!"

With a roll of her eyes, Cassandra took a step back and swung the stick harder, but again, Bull growled at her, throwing his hands into the air. "Ugh, this is why the Qun doesn't like women fighting! I should've asked Cullen!"

Fixing Bull with an annoyed glare, Cassandra drew back and swung the stick with all her considerable might. It connected with Bull's jaw, and he fell backward with a _thud_ into the dirt.

Flat on his back, Bull groaned, "Nice one."

Cassandra's grin was self-satisfied, and when she glanced back behind her, she caught sight of Melora standing there with her arms crossed, watching them curiously from the edge of the training yard.

Holding the stick out to Melora, Cassandra asked, "Perhaps you'd like to take over?"

Melora eyed suppressed a smirk. "Maybe, though I must admit, watching you do this is… certainly pleasant." Watching Cassandra beat the crap out of anything was a sight to behold, especially when she was wearing only light leather and cloth that clung to her tall, strong form.

Cassandra narrowed her eyes and the corner of her mouth twitched up as she tossed Melora the stick and walked away, shaking her head.

Still on the ground, Bull rolled over and grunted, slowly getting to his feet.

Melora twirled the stick in her hand experimentally, feeling the weight of it, and gave Bull a curious look.

"Qunari training exercise," he said, rubbing at his jaw as he straightened up. "Helps master fear. That whole Fade thing, demon in my head… I need to get over that crap."

"By… being hit with a stick?"

"Yeah," was all Bull said in reply, as if that explained it sufficiently. When Melora raised both eyebrows, Bull huffed impatiently. "Look, it's gonna take some explaining, and it's gonna take a while. So can you just hit me with the stick now, and I can tell you all about it later?"

Melora considered this, nodding a little. "Alright. Normally I wouldn't without more information, but after that crack about women fighting…"

Bull snorted. "That was just because I knew it'd get a rise out of her."

"That's a shit excuse," Melora shot back, holding the stick in both hands now, giving it a test swing at the air.

"Fine. I'll apologize to her later if you shut up and hit me with the damn stick now. Besides. Got a rise out of you, too. Now are you gonna hit me, or what?

Melora shrugged, and without another word, she swung the stick hard, landing a solid hit across his belly.

"Again, harder," Bull demanded, clenching his hands into fists.

Bull watched her intently as she pulled back and hit him again in almost the same spot. "Oof!" he grunted, "Yeah, that's it!"

Melora hit him again, harder, and Bull stumbled a step back, his upper lip curled into a pleased snarl. "There we go!"

This time, Melora swung higher, hitting him across the chest, and he growled, "Oh, yeah. Damned demons! Think you can fuck with _my_ head?"

Taking a step back, Melora changed her swing, aiming instead for his left thigh, hitting him hard enough that it jarred her own arms up to the shoulders. It had to have hurt, but Bull's reaction was a savage grin. "Whole army of demons," he spat, his nostrils flaring, "And who's the one still standing?"

"You are!" Melora yelled before delivering another blow. She smirked, but she was starting to get into this. "We are!" she added. Besides, it was kind of fun to hit him with a stick.

"You damn right we are!" Bull shouted, stomping the ground where he stood as she hit him again. "And who kicked that big, powerful demon's ass?"

"I did!" Melora laughed.

"You sure fuckin' did, boss! Big scary demon got the shit kicked out of him by a tiny little _woman_ who could fit in my pocket. _Hah!"_

Melora's smile turned to a glare, and she swung the stick overhand, bashing him over the shoulder. "Hey!" she yelled, whacking him repeatedly. "I kicked the demon's ass! I kicked a dragon's ass! I'll kick your ass too!"

Bull took a step back beneath her onslaught, and growled, "Yeah, that's right, come on! Fuck demons, fuck dragons, fuck that Elder asshole… The scariest thing in this whole damn world is _you!_ And you're beating the crap out of me right now, and look who's still standing! The Iron Fucking Bull!"

Melora growled, whacking him with all her might between each few words. "Only...because… I'm using… this stupid… fucking… _stick_!" Maker, this felt _good._ There had been a coal of anger inside her for so long now, never allowed to fully extinguish, and never allowed to burst into flame. She'd carried the burning thing in her belly, and finally, she could feel it begin to alight.

Bull stumbled back, and those flames in her roared higher when she heard his _laughter!_ She advanced on him, but he held up his hands, chest heaving, and chuckled, "Whoa, whoa, alright, I'm good, boss."

"Maybe I'm not!" Melora shot back, still waving the stick at him.

He took a few more steps away from her. "Hey now, come on, we're good. Training exercise, remember? Don't set my face on fire."

Breathing hard, Melora planted the end of the stick in the ground and stared him down. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand before she demanded, "Right, are you going to tell me what this is about now?"

"Like I said. Training exercise. It's about fear," Bull said, looking down at the dozen or so welts she'd given him, in addition to those left on him by Cassandra.

"By getting someone to beat it out of you?"

"I mean, kind of. It's not about what's happening to you, but what you do with it." Bull felt at his jaw where Cassandra had hit him, grimacing. "Uh, how do I put this? Look, alright. Fear is the anticipation of pain, the avoidance of it. So, you stand up tall, and you think of what scares the shit out of you, and you let someone whack you with a stick. But the key is, you gotta not flinch. You look at the stick, and the person wielding it, and you decide you want it. You tell yourself to welcome it, to treat that anticipation like hunger."

"That's…" Melora shook her head, scowling, but then she went quiet. After a long moment, she tossed the stick to Bull. He caught it and looked down at it in his hand as she said, "Fine. Hit me."

"Uh. What?"

"You heard me." She took a step toward him. "You think you're the only one whose head is fucked up after the Fade? I'm not even sure which of my memories are real anymore. And you've only ever been to the Fade _once._ I have to go there every time I sleep." She still burned with anger, though the words were shaky. Breathing hard through her nose, she stared up at him and waited for a response.

"This because of that crap about women?" Bull asked with a chuckle in his voice. "'Cause like I said, that was just to get a rise, and--"

"Well, _don't,"_ Melora snapped, cutting him off. "You don't get to just say whatever you want to get the reaction you want. You know how to take people apart and figure out what makes them tick, but you never stop to think about whether you _should,_ do you?"

Bull blinked and shook his head. "Uhhh… yeah, I mean, I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to--"

"Just hit me with the stupid fear stick," she growled.

Bull gave a reluctant nod and took a step back, holding the stick so he could slide it through his hand and jab with its end. "Yeah. Alright. I'll start light."

She huffed impatiently. "Just hit me!"

Bull jabbed at her shoulder with the end of the stick. Melora saw it coming, and flinched away. The tip of the stick glanced off her shoulder, but she caught enough of the force for it to still sting.

Bull grunted disapprovingly with a toss of his horns. "No. I know you're used to dodging, but you don't do that now. Watch me. See what I'm going to do. See it happening before it does. And let it come. If you're gonna move at all, you tell yourself before the blow comes that you're gonna step into it, and then do it."

Melora sucked in a breath, tensing as Bull thrust the stick at her other shoulder. She managed to flinch only slightly, taking the blow solid. She gasped at the bloom of pain, though she knew he was going easy on her.

"Better. But you're still only just keeping yourself from trying to get away. You're still fighting yourself, not the fear."

She drew her hands into fists and nodded her understanding, face set hard. Feet planted solid in the dirt, she waited until she saw the first twitch of his muscles as he started to move, and she stepped forward, forcing her eyes to stay open as he hit her again in the exact same spot on her left shoulder.

Her breath caught and she stumbled back, clutching at her shoulder. But she lifted her chin and stepped forward, planting her feet harder. "Again."

Bull turned the stick to its side and hit her across the chest with it, and though her mouth flew open in a gasp, she swallowed back the yelp in her throat and stood her ground, breathing through her nostrils, jaw set hard.

"You know, you can say something, yell, or whatever."

She gave the slightest shake of her head, and a moment later, the stick hit her belly, muscles taut against the blow.

"It's not just about taking the pain. It's not a test of endurance," he explained, hitting her again, each blow ringing out with a dull _thwack_. Melora gritted her teeth through it and several more as he spoke, voice gruff. "It's about wanting it. You let the fear take you over, and you let the pain wash it away."

Again, and again, he hit the same sequence of places, each spot growing more sore with every blow, until the pain of it burned bright inside Melora, and she choked out, "Your fear stick logic has a gaping hole."

He didn't stop. "What's that?" he asked. One shoulder, the other, chest, and belly, over and over.

The fire behind Melora's eyes blazed as she snapped forward, grabbing the stick in both hands when Bull drew back for another blow. She wrenched the stick up and caught him across the jaw with it in almost the same place Cassandra had hit him. Bull stumbled, managing to keep his hold on the stick, and fell on his ass in the dirt, blinking in surprise.

"I don't have to welcome it," Melora growled, doubling over and grimacing, one hand over her shoulder and the other across her middle. "I can make it stop."

Bull used the stick to help him get back to his feet and then threw it aside in the grass. He watched her and snorted a low laugh. "You know, that was never how this exercise went in the Qun. But I gotta admit, it does have a certain… symbolic quality." He rubbed at his jaw, wincing, but then grinned down at her, showing sharp white teeth. "But alright, that's the way you wanna do this, sure. I could use a good fight."

A fight. Yes, that sounded like just the thing. Ever since Adamant she'd been on edge, and travelling back with the army meant they'd been perfectly, boringly safe. She needed to hit something.

Melora took a step back, undoing her coat and throwing it aside in the grass nearby, and then stretched her shoulders, wincing at the sore places there and knowing they would be bruised later. She looked beneath the edge of her blouse and saw angry red imprints where the chain of her dragon's tooth had dug into her flesh. Bull's skin was marked too, red welts raised where he'd been hit with the fear stick.

She shook out her arms and flexed her hands, limbering up, a rush lifting her at the thought of fighting him, _really_ fighting, no wooden daggers, no patient explanations to help her training. Just fists and feet and the thrill of trying to land enough hits before taking too many yourself. Melora flicked her tongue over her lower lip, feeling her blood begin to _sing_ as it rushed through her veins.

Bull's eye narrowed. "Come on. I gotta tell you no magic?"

Melora blinked. "I'm not--"

"Not yet, you're not, but you're doing that thing you do before a fight. Not casting, but getting ready to, I guess?"

Frowning, Melora shook her head, but she realized he was right. The threads of the Veil were drawn close around her, gathered in anticipation of a fight, and she felt the deep pool of her mana rising ready for whatever came. Yet she had no intention of casting, and had been completely unaware she was doing it.

"How can you know that?" she demanded, staring at him.

Bull shrugged. "I dunno. Just… felt it, I guess. It's like standing next to a little thunderstorm. Makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up."

"You shouldn't be able to feel that," Melora said, scowling, trying to figure it out and finding no explanation.

"Yeah, well, I did."

"I wasn't going to cast at you."

Bull smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Heh, after that thing with the stick, how do I know you're not gonna try to set my pants on fire, too?"

She was still trying to puzzle out how he'd known she'd been readying her magic, and it took her a moment to answer, "Hmm, maybe I will." She huffed a breath and then asked, "Do you know every time I do that?"

Bull tipped his head back, groaning. "Ah, come on, are we gonna do this, or you gonna ask me a bunch of questions?"

"Why not both?" she asked, and she lunged at him, intentionally clumsy. Bull reacted quickly, making a grab for her. But she was expecting it, and dropped low, sidestepping him as his hand closed on empty air.

Bull snorted a laugh and nodded. "Fine." He turned to face her and waited.

"Do you know every time?" she repeated, and she came at him again, feinting to his right this time and then trying to dip out of his reach. But he was not easily fooled twice, and one huge fist grazed her shoulder right in the damn spot he'd hit her with the stick.

Melora stumbled, gasping, and then grit her teeth, looking up at him, waiting for an answer.

"Yeah. I do," he said, watching her intently. "It's like… I dunno, a cat that's seen a dog. You know that thing where they go all arched and puffy? You do that with magic whenever you're getting ready to fight."

"Do you get that from other mages, too?" she asked.

But Bull didn't answer, and just raised an eyebrow, waiting. Melora huffed annoyedly and charged him. Bull saw her coming and stepped aside, putting out a foot. It caught Melora on the shin, and she tumbled into the dirt. She pushed herself up, swearing and spitting mud.

"No," Bull replied, and now he was frowning too, considering this. "Never noticed it with anyone else."

Melora dusted herself off and shoved the loose pieces of hair back from her face. "Has it always been that way?"

He would not answer until she came at him, taking a swing at him that she knew she'd never be able to connect. He blocked her fist with his hand and pushed her back with a forearm. But he already had to stoop low to get down to her level, and she ducked his arms, dropping out of his grasp and using her momentum to drive her elbow up under his ribs.

Bull _oofed_ and stumbled back, but he recovered quickly and grabbed for her, yanking both arms sharply behind her back. He leaned down, voice low too, and he sounded almost confused as he said, "No, it hasn't always been like that. I don't know when I first noticed it. It's kinda subtle. I guess it's gotten more noticeable over time, but I figured that's just because you're getting stronger."

He released her, taking a step back, but he was expecting another question, a pause. Instead, she whirled and hit him in the side. He shrugged off the blow, blocking the next one, and when she tried to kick at him, he grabbed her calf and pulled, putting her off-balance. She fell with a grunt into the dirt again.

Melora rolled over, coughing, dust in her lungs and grass in her hair. Damn, she was going to be sore tomorrow. She spat out a leaf, and slowly pushed herself back up, shaking her head. "It's not possible. You shouldn't be able to-- Magic is… oh, how did Solas explain it?" Once she was back on her feet, she brushed the dirt from her backside, shaking out her blouse. "It's exploiting potentiality. At any time, a thousand things could be happening, some much more likely than others. Magic lets you choose which of those things happens. I don't _make_ fire. I find the potential for fire that's already there, and make it the most probable, and fire just… happens. But until I actually cast, it's just potential. It hasn't happened yet. Another mage might be able to feel it, or a Templar, but you're neither. Could-- could you have gotten confused and tipped back a draught of lyrium by mistake? I mean, you drink poultices so--"

Bull grunted indignantly. "Yeeeah, I think I'd know if I drank lyrium."

Melora scowled, impatient with her own failure to understand. "In the Circle they told us of… um, mages whose magical abilities were so weak, they couldn't cast any spells themselves, but had _some_ magical aptitude nonetheless. I guess that maybe--"

Bull waved his hands, shaking his head, and cut her off. "No, no way. I'm _not_ any kind of mage. First time I'd ever been to the Fade was when I fell into it, remember?"

Frowning, Melora pressed her lips together. "Then… I don't know."

"You don't have to know everything, boss."

"Yes, I do!" she grumbled, and took another half hearted swing at him.

He caught her fist against his palm, and tilted his head to look down at her.

Melora glared up at him, and socked him in the side with her free hand.

Bull sighed and rolled his eye, and in a flash, he released her fist and took hold of her head, clasping her face firmly between both palms before she could jerk away. "You think too much," he said. His face shone silver with sweat, flushed with the fighting and reddened at his jaw where a deep bruise would soon flower. She was caught, both in the grip of his hands, and in his intent gaze.

" _I_ think too much?" Despite his hold on her, she had to laugh. She'd never known anyone who thought as much as Bull did, or as well.

"Yeah. You do. _I_ know when to turn it off. Quit asking questions and just. fight. me." His mouth formed the words slowly and deliberately, the huff of his breath hot against her face. His fingertips pressed hard into the back of her head, thumbs resting upon her cheeks.

Melora's eyes darted away, and she made a move to struggle, though she knew it was futile. "Fine," she grumbled.

Bull released her and stepped back, straightening up to his immense height.

Melora shoved her hair back from her face, hand dropping back to her side as a fist. She took a deep breath, trying to still her mind, trying to be fully in this moment. She closed her eyes, listening to the trees and grass around her as they rustled with a cool gust of wind that dried the sweat on the back of her neck. The sun was warm and bright, glowing red through her eyelids.

Her skin prickled, hairs raising as she realized she could see the shape of him, feel Bull's presence there despite his silence and her closed eyes. The rush of her heartbeat seemed to stoke that spark of blood within her, despite how long it had been since she'd last tasted it. He had said it would change her, and this, at least, seemed to be permanent.

When she opened her eyes, he was still standing in the same place, his eye trained on her.

She launched herself at him, blood singing in her veins.

He was ready for her, and threw one arm up against her. She ducked it, swung for him, but Bull saw this too, and stepped back, her fist finding only empty air.

Bull lunged for her before she could regain her balance, and the blow came close enough that she felt the slide of his knuckles grazing her shoulder blade, only just missing her.

When Melora came back up, Bull was there, blocking her next punch, and the next, and the next. Where she moved, he countered. And when he went for her, he missed over and over, but every time, only just. He stepped forward, and she stepped back. She turned and he turned with her. He gave her no time to hesitate, to overthink. There truly wasn't even time to think at all, if she was to avoid those huge fists. Bob, duck, back up again, an opening just wide enough for an attack of her own, inevitably blocked, duck again, sidestep, faster than she could calculate and yet in perfect sync.

Melora gave herself over to it, feeling the rhythm of it and finding it in time to the pounding of her heart. Everything else fell away then, the rest of the world forgotten. Her limbs moved with unthinking will, and though her body ached with the impact every time he blocked her, that pain meant she was still alive. It was a pain she'd asked for, a pain that purified.

The fight had become a dance, every movement in perfect harmony, the touches between them bruising rather than courtly, their feet kicking up dust from the hard packed dirt of their dance floor. They had practiced the steps for this a thousand times through a thousand fights, spilled the blood of countless men and beasts and burned these movements into their own bones. And they had done it all side by side, two limbs of the same body, left and right hand working together in equilibrium. Where Melora was fast and agile, Bull was strong and powerful. Each was the perfect complement to the other, so that every blow was blocked or dodged even as the next was coming.

Maker, this was almost _easy,_ a pattern to it underlying it all, and Melora could see the shape of it, encircling them both, inscribed in flame down to the marrow of them. She let the fire take her, and with laughter welling up in her, Melora closed her eyes.

She braced for the blow she knew was coming and blocked it even as she skidded back in the dirt with the force of it. She whirled, striking out, and Bull narrowly knocked her leg aside. In her mind's eye, she could see him clearly, the spark within him the same as the one she carried with her.

Off balance, Melora rolled and popped up quickly, eyes fluttering open as she suddenly understood. She knew then how he had felt her preparing to cast. It was the blood… not just the dragon's blood, but his as well. This was blood magic of a strange and subtle kind, and though that thought should have terrified her, instead she found it exhilarating.

It was only a moment's distraction, but it was enough, and she forgot to dodge. He caught her solidly in the right side of her face, and she spun as she crumpled to the ground.

"Oh, shit!" Bull was crouched beside her in an instant, his hand on her shoulder. "You alright?"

Melora groaned and rolled onto her side, bringing a hand up to her face. She tasted blood, the side of her bottom lip split, and gouged inside by her teeth. The metallic tang of it filled her mouth as she lay there in Bull's shadow, dirt sticking to her skin. She looked up at his horns silhouetted against the bright blue sky, and as she lay there bleeding, she started to laugh, the sound bubbling up unbidden from deep within her belly.

He grinned down at her. "Guess this means I won?"

_Smug bastard._

Melora kicked out at him, knocking his feet from under him, and he toppled backward onto his ass. Melora shoved herself up off the ground and threw herself onto him before he could get back up. She knelt on his chest, knee against his throat, not pressing but able to with the slightest shift forward. She held his horns down with her full weight, their sharp tips gouging into the ground, and Bull looked up at her in wide-eyed bafflement.

If he couldn't raise his head, he couldn't get up. Bull's arms were still free, though, and he grabbed her around the waist to throw her off.

But he didn't.

Chest heaving, she looked down at him, confused. Bull let his shoulders fall back, and he said, "You know, actually, I think you win."

Melora snorted indignantly. "What, because I pinned you? You could throw me off easily." She noted that he still did not, and that his hands still circled her hips. Suddenly, she was very aware of the feeling of him beneath her, the rise and fall of his sweat-slick chest lifting her with his every breath.

"Yeah, but this isn't a fair fight."

Melora glared at him, shoving his horns harder into the dirt. "Just because you're bigger and stronger than me--" Her split lip was still bleeding, running down her chin, copper on her tongue.

Bull tried to shake his head, and she could feel the movement against her palms, even if he barely budged. "Nah, that's not what I meant. You'd kick my ass easy if you were using magic. And whatever just happened, I want to know what it was, too, because… shit."

A drop of her blood hung quivering at her chin for a moment, and she watched it fall as if in slow motion, onto Bull's lips. Melora stared at it there, staining his skin until he licked it away with the tip of his tongue, one pointed tooth catching on the soft flesh of his lower lip. "Besides," he said, shifting slightly beneath her. "I don't want to win."

He did not look away from her, but Bull tipped his head back, exposing his throat to her. He drew his hands away from her waist, lingering and reluctant, and rested his arms on either side of his head there on the ground, fingers curled to his palms, and said very softly, "I yield."

She looked down at him, his body bruised, traces of her blood on his lips, surrendered to her and pinned beneath her willingly. His pulse throbbed beneath the flesh of his throat, and Melora clenched her jaw till it ached to keep from dipping her head to that place and biting him there, adding another mark to those she had already given him. Everywhere, they had written pain across each other's skin. And they had seen it coming, and welcomed it.

In Bull's face, in that that familiar expression somewhere between adoration and a challenge, she could see the promise of pain. It had always been there. She had known what he was from the start, and had chosen to ignore it. She had reached for flames, and been burned.

But this man she held down in the dirt was not the same man she had met on that beach. Even his face had changed, wearing new scars and deeper lines of laughter and worry. And three times, he had chosen his own path: standing on the clifftop overlooking the waves, atop the walls of Skyhold while assassins' blood pooled at his feet, and on the crumbling stone of Adamant over the Abyssal Rift.

She, too, was not the same woman who had cowered through their first meeting, and who had placed her safety and her heart unquestioning into his hands. They had changed themselves just as they had shaped one another, for good or ill. _We are alike in sorrow, sculptor and clay._

And no flame could harm her now.

Melora closed her eyes, her resolve faltering at the sight of him. But she could still feel him, not just beneath her but in every vein of her. Her blood called out to his, and she could hear the song echoing in her bones.

The touch of Bull's fingertips brushing her face drew a helpless sound from her lips, and she leaned into that touch, his palm warm and leathery against her cheek. She slid her own hand up his arm to his wrist, holding him there. His touch was like a sudden breath of air when she hadn't even realized she was drowning. Melora squeezed her eyes shut tight, clinging to him even as she still held him down.

He swiped the runnel of blood from her chin with his thumb, and as light as the pressure was, the throb of answering pain in her jaw broke her reverie.

All at once, Melora released him, scrambling up off of him.

She didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed, and stood there with her back to him, shoulders slumped and chest heaving.

She couldn't look at him, didn't want to see the look on his face. He may not have understood the strange awareness between them, but there was no mistaking the tone of the tension stretched between them now.

She swallowed back the coal of flame within her and, huffing a sigh, she said over her shoulder, "I _really_ need a drink. You coming?"

Bull pushed himself up off the ground with a grunt, brushing bits of dead leaves from his trousers. "Suddenly thirsty, huh?" he asked, and there was just the slightest lilt around the words.

"Oh, shut up," she shot back, but she pressed back a tiny smirk. "Your fear stick thing is stupid, by the way." She prodded at her split lip with two fingers, feeling the swollen, sore place there, and she spat pink into the dirt.

Bull snorted a laugh, nodding as he came up beside her, and they walked side by side off toward the tavern. "Yeah, maybe it is," he said, handing her coat he'd picked up from where she'd thrown it aside in the grass. "But you aren't thinking about demons any more, are you?"

She glanced aside at him, rolling her eyes, leading the way to the tavern.

With Bull behind her, Melora did not see him bring his hand to his lips to lick away the smear of her blood on his thumb; she didn't need to see, feeling the spark of him flare in her awareness as her blood mingled with his. "No. No, I'm not," she said, though somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she _should_ have been worrying about demons, toying as she was with unknown blood magic that she did not fully understand.

But no demons could stand before her. She was Andraste's Herald. She had defeated the Nightmare. The Maker was with her. And so was the Iron Bull, at her side and in her blood. This was all the Maker's will, and she was his instrument.

The Maker's instrument spent the rest of the evening getting sloshed on mead in the tavern, until her bruises no longer throbbed, until she no longer felt the pain of her split lip, until she could look at Bull sitting across from her without feeling the pain of that, too.


	36. Chapter 36

The Arbor Wilds hid ancient secrets beneath its rich soil and creeping vines, concealed by the canopy of trees which spread so densely overhead that sunlight reached the ground only in fragments, droplets of light scattered like gleaming coins amidst the undergrowth. The rest came filtered through the leaves as a dim emerald glow, a strange twilight even on the brightest of days. The shadows all around seemed to shift and move even when the humid air was still, and as the Inquisitor's group moved through the forest, it was impossible to shake the feeling that they were being watched. A shape seen out of the corner of the eye might seem to be a creature or person, but instead was only a trick of the light against the tangled backdrop of the dense, lush forest. Few faint breezes sighed through the trees, stirring the leaves into whispers, branches rubbing and creaking like a strange music. And though the army may have cleared the main roads ahead of them, the place seemed to want to be wild, vines already reclaiming ground where they had only recently been hacked away.

The Inquisition's enemy had faced defeat time and again, deprived of his mages, his Wardens, and his demon army. And now, the Inquisition pursued their foes deep into the Wilds, leaving them no sanctuary here. But the battle was not yet won, and the Inquisitor joined the fray herself, pushing deeper into the dense forest to the ancient elven temple that stood there.

They advanced into the wild to find great resistance from the Red Templars, heavily fortified around the many ruins, and the deeper they delved, the stranger the land seemed to become, terrain twisting and turning, paths interrupted by thick, gnarled roots that bled droplets of sticky red sap, being fed upon by drifts of white butterflies. Shelf mushrooms that looked big enough to sleep upon clung to enormous fallen trees. Brilliantly-coloured birds perched atop ancient statues of owls and archers, peering at the trespassers in their forest and chattering noisily to one another. Over moss-slick rocks, great waterfalls roared into pools that were once clear but now stained with the blood of the Inquisition's fallen enemies. This place had once been home to a thriving civilization, but was now almost entirely reclaimed by the wilderness.

Deep within the heart of the Wilds, they came upon the temple, ringed by waterfalls that lapped at the temple's stone foundations. There was but a single long, narrow bridge leading to the temple, which stood like an island in the trees. Flanking the bridge, two graceful stone dragons bowed their heads, wings curled about them like a cloak, half obscured by lichen and climbing vines blooming with flowers the colour of sunrise.

Their enemy had beat them there, and when the archdemon charged, the Inquisition's group fled across the mist-shrouded bridge, the archdemon's scream nearly lost in the roar of the waterfall. The temple door sealed itself behind them with a resounding _boom,_ and in the eerie silence that followed, Melora looked up at the high stone arches sweeping overhead. Her blood ran cold and her stomach sank with the strangest feeling that she had been here before, a familiarity to these contours that she could not place or explain.

"The Temple of Mythal," breathed Morrigan in wonder. "I never thought to see such a place, that it might have survived."

"Mythal was the elven goddess of, um.." Melora said, looking around. "Of… motherhood and… something angry, right?"

Morrigan stared at Melora and blinked slowly. "Yes, actually. In most stories, Mythal rights wrongs while exercising motherly kindness. 'Let fly your voice to Mythal, deliverer of justice, protector of sun and earth alike.' Others paint her as dark and vengeful. Pray to Mythal and she would smite your enemies, leaving them in agony."

"So… like a mother bear," Melora said.

Morrigan arched an eyebrow, nodding. "That is… not an inaccurate way of putting it, I suppose. Though I wonder how _you_ came to know of Mythal."

"You don't think we have books in the Circle?" Melora replied with a laugh, glancing back at Morrigan.

"On elven lore?"

"Yes, of course, on all manner of subjects," Melora said. "I'm sure that none were perfectly accurate, all accounts from Chantry scholars and the like, but… Heh, we even had Varric's books."

"I am certain whatever the Chantry scholars had to say on ancient elven lore could bear little resemblance to what truly was," Solas said, his tone blistering with disdain.

Morrigan sighed, bringing a hand to her forehead. "Then perhaps you can enlighten us."

"The oldest accounts say Mythal was both of these, and neither. She was the Mother, protective and fierce," Solas said, his voice taking on a dramatic resonance. An odd expression flickered over his face, and the twinkle in his eye subsided. His mouth twitched into a self-conscious smile, and he shrugged, adjusting the wrapping on his staff. "That is all I will say. This is not a place to stir up old stories."

"Whatever the truth," Morrigan said, "All accounts end the same, exiled to the Beyond with her brethren, tricked by the Dread Wolf as all the elven gods were said to be, and trapped in a land beyond the Fade."

"A land beyond the Fade? Like the Crossroads?" Melora asked, looking up at the collapsed ceiling, where the sky was bright and blue, with no sign of the archdemon still circling. "A place… outside? Tossed them in, and bricked up the door?"

"I… cannot say. Perhaps," said Morrigan.

Solas said nothing, but watched Melora with narrowed eyes.

"Inquisitor?" said Morrigan, starting off and glancing back behind her. "Our enemy will not delay, and nor should we."

A shaft of sunlight through the ruined roof illuminated the way ahead, vines crawling for the light over crumbling stone. A breeze cooled the sweat on the back of Melora's neck, and the rustle of leaves through the temple sounded even more like strange whispers. She could almost make out what they were saying. If she just listened hard enough, maybe...

Bull's hand on her shoulder brought her back into focus, the others leading the way further into the temple while she stood listening to the wind.

"Can you hear that?" she asked him.

"Hear what?"

"I don't know…" She looked up at the arches sweeping high overhead, hanging with foliage. "Echoes, I think. Like voices, or music."

"Uh, no, I don't hear that. You sure you're alright?"

Melora put out her hand as she passed beneath one of the high arches, fingertips seeking the cool stone between the leaves. She dragged her fingertips across the arch, and she felt the Veil ripple at the passage of her touch like the surface of a pond, the structure itself thrumming beneath her fingers. "Strange. The Veil is… not _thin_ here exactly. More… complex. There's layers to it, all interwoven. I've never seen anything like it."

"That's not an answer to the question I asked," he said, his voice low and each word deliberate, his hand still on her shoulder tightening there to slow her from catching up with the others just yet. "And the blood sometimes makes you a little… weird."

It had been two drops this time, administered with hands trembling at the thought of facing her enemy directly. There had been other single droplets of blood, too, as they ranged through the Dales ahead of the Inquisition's army, always under Bull's watchful supervision, the phial stored in one of his many pockets. With each drop, she felt herself grow stronger, bolder, braver, the spark within her grown to an ever-burning flame.

"I'm good, really," she said, casting a glance up at him with what she hoped was a reassuring smile, and she watched in fascination as the tips of his horns seemed to catch in a beam of sunlight, tearing through it and stirring the particles sparkling in the air.

Bull gave her a skeptical look before glancing behind them, ever-cautious as he brought up the rear of their group.

They pressed on, Morrigan and Solas leading them deeper into the temple. There, they faced the Templar general, but he and his subordinates fled into a half-collapsed side chamber. Cassandra led the charge after them, the others close behind her, but then Morrigan's voice came from behind them, "Wait! Not that way!"

"What?" Cassandra demanded. "They went _that way!"_

Morrigan shook her head. "Melora, please," she said, her golden eyes flashing with intensity and despite the urgency, Melora turned back to her. She had spent much of the journey from Skyhold talking with Morrigan, eager to hear of magic beyond what the Circle had taught, and they had formed, if not a friendship, than an understanding of one another. Morrigan's words carried weight.

"While they rush ahead, I believe _this_ leads to our true destination," Morrigan said, gesturing to the wide courtyard before them, open to the sky. At the far end, a huge set of doors inlaid with a mosaic stood shut, the place before them so thick with ferns that it was obvious they had not been opened in a _very_ long time. Flanking either side of the door were two huge golden statues of a woman standing proud, with wings like a dragon, a strange pointed mask or helmet obscuring her face. The floor of the courtyard was a maze of ornate tile walkways, grown over with moss and trailing foliage, laid out in twisting paths edged in low stone walls. Water dripped from somewhere, leaving a slick, mossy place next to a tall tablet that stood before them, crusted with yellow lichen. Still visible beneath the ages of growth was the deep engraving of a looping script like tongues of flame. Morrigan stepped up to the tablet, gesturing to the lettering there. "This is ancient elven. It says… ah--"

 _"Atish'all Vir Abelasan,"_ said Solas from behind them. "It means, 'Enter the path of the Well of Sorrows.'"

"Then this leads to the Well?" Melora asked, looking out at the complex system of paths before them with no obvious route to the other side.

Morrigan nodded slowly, looking closer at the inscription. "Yes, I believe so. There is something about knowledge… respectful or pure? Here, supplicants of Mythal would have first paid obeisance, walking in the footsteps of their gods. Following their path may aid entry to the inner sanctum of the temple, where the Well must surely be."

"This is where they paid _fealty_ to their gods," Solas said, in a tone that sounded as though he were correcting her. "I have seen it. In the Fade. Only the reverent were permitted to touch this ground, and only in solemn contemplation."

"Then do you know the correct path?" Melora asked.

Solas smiled, as if the question was a ridiculous one. "There is not one correct path, but many, branching and converging. And if I am correct, the ancient magics here are still strong. Deviation from one of the valid paths would be… ill advised."

Melora raised an eyebrow. "'Ill-advised?'"

"He means traps," Bull grumbled. "Creepy magic traps. Great."

"After all this time? What enchantments can be so long-lasting?" Melora asked, looking out at the courtyard.

She stretched out one hand, closing her eyes, and gave a confused laugh. "Oh. How strange." The entire place seemed to thrum with an inaudible vibration, humming almost imperceptibly through the air.

"Can you feel it?" she asked Morrigan. "The Veil here, it's…"

Morrigan nodded slowly, gesturing in a slow circle with her staff. "Yes. Tangled, almost. Like these vines."

The threads of it arrayed out before her, spread warp and weft upon a spectral loom, and Melora stroked her fingers across the strings ever so gently, sending out a vibration that played through the entire network of interwoven threads.

Melora looked back at Morrigan, grinning. "Oh. I can see the pattern to it. I think I understand!"

"Understand what?" Morrigan asked, confused.

Melora turned to Solas, snapping her fingers and then pointing at him. Solas frowned, taking a step back, as Melora said, "You know, don't you? You said it, solemn contemplation. But what are they contemplating? This. These patterns. They're not seeing these… these stones. These are just the physical representation. What you're really walking, that pattern isn't written here at all. You can't see it. You have to be able to feel it, and if you can't… you're not worthy, are you?"

Solas gave her a strange look, eyeing her for a long moment before he said, "That very well may be, yes."

"You are right. There is some… distortion here, isn't there?" Morrigan said, turning in a slow circle.

Varric spoke up, glancing at the rest of them uneasily. "Alright, does anyone have any idea what the mages are talking about, because…?"

Melora turned to him with a grin. "It's a pattern overlaid on… all of this. I know how to do this."

"You can't seriously be considering performing a… a ritual to appease elven gods," said Cassandra, eyeing the floor before them warily.

"'As there is but one world, one life, one death, there is but one god, and he is our Maker,'" quoted Melora from the Chant. "Anything we do here, we do in the service of the Maker and no other."

"Even so," Cassandra said, scowling in disapproval.

"Did everyone forget there's Inquisition soldiers out there fighting and dying?" Bull grumbled, gesturing to tunnel hacked into the rock. "We know we can go that way. The bad guys are going that way. Why are we still dicking around here when we can go after them?"

Morrigan huffed. "Performing these rituals may mean the difference in reaching the Well before Corypheus's minions and not at all. It may also reveal more information about the Well itself which may be critical to our success."

"We have no information on what lies behind those doors. They may have a reason for taking an alternate route," said Cassandra.

"Nor do we know what dangers may lie down the path they have chosen," Morrigan shot back. "There is no guarantee that the way they have gone is safer, shorter, or more direct. These servants of Corypheus are Templars and have no mages among them. They could not sense what we can. Lacking the skill to come the faster route, they have pursued an alternate means of entry out of necessity. Had they the option, they would have proceeded."

"Yet _they_ are going _that way,"_ Cassandra insisted, pointing to the still-smoldering rent in the stone. "This Well you seek is _not_ our goal. We wish to stop Corypheus and his allies. We may very well be able to do that before ever even reaching this Well of yours, if we follow them."

Melora looked at all of them, impatience written on their faces, and frowned. "Morrigan is right. We have no way of knowing if that tunnel is faster, or safe at all. But we know that what they seek is the Well, and we know that this path leads there. If we hurry, we can get there before them, defend the well, and perhaps even set up an ambush."

Bull sighed, gesturing toward the way ahead. "Ancient magical traps rather than the big straightforward hole. Great."

Melora looked up at him with her jaw set firm and said, "I've got this. Trust me. All of you." She looked at the network of paths ahead and said, "Walk where I walk. Step only where I step. Solas, Morrigan, I want the two of you directly behind me. Make sure I'm going the right way, and if anyone missteps, I want both of you ready to nullify any destructive spells. Everybody follow the mages."

"I'm pretty sure Andraste would have had some objection to that statement, _Herald,_ " Varric said with a smirk.

"Well, she's not here, so get in line, Tethras," Melora said, hooking a thumb behind her.

The path had one entrance, and Melora eyed the wide stone tile warily.

"Right, then," she said, drawing a deep breath. "Maker guide me."

"That seems an unnecessary blasphemy," scoffed Morrigan from behind her. "Dead goddess or not, this is not a Chantry for Andraste, but Mythal's temple."

"If either of them would like to show up now to lend a hand, it would be welcome," said Melora, letting her eyes settle closed and extending her mind beyond herself. She could feel the Veil around her, the strange vibration of it here, as if it hummed to some music beyond her hearing. Here and there, she could feel the complex texture of it change, dips and valleys in its fabric like well-worn places in a much-walked rug. Across the ages, the footsteps of those who had come before echoed so deeply that they could be felt even now. With outstretched fingers, Melora walked with her eyes closed, moving carefully and shuffling her feet so as not to trip over the roots and vines snaking across her path.

Where she walked, the floor glowed faintly blue, dull beneath the grime of years, and there was a low vibration that grew with each step. But she triggered no traps, and as Melora walked the meandering path with the others following close behind, that odd sense of familiarity came over her again. There was a pattern to this that she could not only sense but recognized somehow. Was it one of the dances she had learned as a child? It had a repetition to it, the way turning back on itself before curving outward once more, again and again in subtle variation. What image or sigil her footsteps traced in this ancient courtyard, she could only try to imagine, moving faster and faster, knowing that she had no time to dawdle here over magical theory. There would be time later for that… Maker willing.

And when her fingertips touched the door at the far end of the courtyard at last, Melora opened her eyes as a breeze swept through the leaves, and she could hear that whispering again, moving around her with the wind, as if it were the voice of the trees or the temple itself. At the touch of her hands, the intricate mosaic inlaid upon the doors seemed to give a flash of golden light as they swung suddenly open.

"Oh," she breathed with a soft laugh, lowering her hands.

Beyond lay the temple interior, and here the roof was unbroken, the darkened halls stretched out before them lit by lamps hanging upon the lavishly decorated walls, which were painted with colourful murals and ornamented with highly stylized mosaics. Everywhere, braids of gold followed the graceful lines of the stonework arching overhead, and the floor was inlaid with repeating geometric patterns. And there were few signs that the years had touched this place at all, the floor clean and free of dust, the lamps kept full with oil, the precious gems and metals set into the walls polished and gleaming in the flickering light.

"Holy crap," said Varric, coming up alongside Melora in the doorway with the others. "That's a lot of… holy… crap."

"Can you imagine what all this stuff would be worth?" wondered Bull.

Solas shot him a glare. "This is ancient, sacred ground, and you would plunder it without a thought?"

"Nah," Bull said, smiling, and rolled a shrug. "Of course I'd think about it first. Figure out the most valuable bits and pry them out first. No sense wasting time on the stuff that ain't worth the effort."

"There is far more valuable here than earthly treasure," Morrigan scoffed.

"Sure there is," Bull said in that same easy tone, gesturing with one hand. "But that ruby in the eye of that… I dunno, what is that, a deer? I know a guy who'd give me fifty royals for one half that size. And that's plenty valuable enough for me."

"You wish to _fence_ the eye of Ghilan'nain?" Solas asked, deadpan.

"Hey, I'm not actually gonna do it. I'm just saying, your old-timey elves were not big on the subtle and understated decor. I mean, look there, not one but two giant golden wolf statues," Bull said, pointing far down the hall to another set of doors. On either side lay two gleaming gold statues of reclining wolves. "There's some 'Vint magisters that'd have suggested they tone it down a bit."

"What are _those_ doing here?" Morrigan wondered, jostling Solas as she pushed past him to stride down the hall toward the statues.

"Shouldn't we still be worried about traps?" asked Varric, gesturing to Morrigan.

"No," Solas said. "The inner sanctum of the temple would have been admissible only to the worthy. It would be like placing traps in one's own home."

"I guess you've never had the Carta pissed at you," Varric replied with a grin.

"Do you know what this is?" Morrigan asked, ignoring the others and gesturing to one of the statues as she turned back to Melora.

Gazing up at the mosaics and murals upon the walls, Melora was transfixed, and didn't hear. Her blood rushed through her ears, blocking all other sound. She felt a little dizzy, and she put her hand out, the polished mosaic cool and smooth beneath her touch, and somehow, buzzing slightly with a strange energy.

Morrigan repeated the question again, louder, and Melora turned, blinking, and said, "Ah, sorry, it's… uh, a statue."

Morrigan sighed impatiently. "Yes, well, _obviously_. It depicts the Dread Wolf, Fen'Harel. But in the elven tales, he betrayed the other gods. He was the one who tricked them into sealing themselves away in the Beyond for all time. Setting statues to Fen'Harel in Mythal's sanctum is as blasphemous as… as painting Andraste dancing naked in the Chantry."

"Don't the Dalish have statues of Fen'Harel about? And Chantric imagery is full of depictions of Maferath, who betrayed Andraste, ultimately leading to her death. He's there as a cautionary tale maybe?" Melora said.

"I suppose it might fulfill a similar function…" Morrigan replied, but she sounded doubtful.

"Strange that they'd have two of them flanking the door, though," Bull said, nodding to the wolf statues. "Makes them look like guardians to me, placed like that."

"How could the ancient elves pour this much devotion into such nonsense?" Cassandra asked, wrinkling her nose.

"One would imagine that they didn't think it was nonsense," Morrigan said with derisive look.

Cassandra shrugged, her armor creaking, and said, "Nonsense or not, we do not have time for this now."

"Indeed. We need to press on," said Solas.

Melora looked to the door that lay beyond the wolf statues. She wondered how this one might open, but as she approached it, the doors swung open on their own, as if in response to her presence.

Her eyes went wide, and Solas gave a chuckle. "You walked the path," he explained.

Melora stepped through the doorway into a wide chamber with a high ceiling. Here, more lamps were lit, and flames from braziers flanking the balcony on the far wall crackled and threw dancing light upon two more huge statues of that same proud female figure with dragon wings and pointed mask. And as if from nowhere, a dozen hooded elven figures appeared, flanking them from the rear and from the balcony, bows held ready. The Inquisitor and her companions drew their weapons as well, and Bull quickly closed the distance between to Melora, putting himself between her and most of the archers.

But the elves did not attack. Instead, the Inquisitor spoke with their leader, Abelas, an ancient elf from the time of Arlathan. Such a thing seemed impossible, and yet, somehow, she knew that he spoke the truth. He seemed reasonable, willing to listen, and agreed to allow the Inquisition to stop the Red Templars at the Well… but they would not be permitted to use its power.

When the doors leading out of the chamber swung open, Morrigan saw her chance and took it. She must have had the spell readied, because Morrigan's physical form dissolved in an instant into a puff of purplish smoke. And out of the smoke flew a gleaming black raven which plunged through the doorway ahead of all of them.

Abelas and the other ancient sentinels went after her, disappearing down another way inaccessible from anywhere but the balcony. "I told you she could not be trusted!" spat Solas as he and the rest of them took off after Morrigan.

But on the other side of the doors, there was no sign of Morrigan or Abelas. They were outside once more, blinking at the sunlight where it found its way through the trees and vines. Before them, they saw another courtyard, smaller than before and with no maze of pathways. Instead, it was a lush garden, an unlike the other areas of the temple, it was meticulously tended, allowed to grow wild only around the edges where the forest crept in over the roof.

It was here that they met Corypheus's general once more, reaching the courtyard from a side door just moments after the Inquisitor and her party.

"So much for setting up an ambush," said Varric, pulling his crossbow from his back.

The Red Templar general was a sickly looking man, sneering in derision even after the Inquisitor withdrew a rune infused with red lyrium from a specially-shielded pocket in her coat, and at a stroke, she destroyed the armor that protected him. She gave silent thanks to the Maker and to Dagna as the general crumpled at her feet. His men attacked, twisted with red lyrium and fighting with an unnatural fury.

But they were little match for the Inquisition, and together they brought an end to the lives of these wretched souls, committing them to the Maker's judgement.

When the fighting was over, and somehow, the general was still alive, too weak to fight or even to stand, they wrapped the fallen man in two layers of cloaks to cover the spines of red lyrium still jutting from his ruined armor and carried him up the stairs with them to the heart of the temple.

There, on a high platform overlooked by another masked, winged statue, was a large round pool. Its surface rippled and danced as though stirred by a heavy wind, though the air was still, and the colour of it seemed too dark for water, too reflective, glinting like liquid onyx. Around it stood several tall mirrors, much like the one Morrigan had brought to Skyhold. Most were shattered, but one still looked to be intact. The Well of Sorrows… and the other eluvian.

And here, they found Morrigan and Abelas, too. Abelas stood between Morrigan and the Well, gleaming in his armor, staff in hand and ready to strike.

"You were given leave to fight your enemy and then depart," snarled Abelas, pointing his staff at the Inquisitor. "You have fought, but you do not leave. And this one, one of yours, she seeks the Well for herself. And it seems, so do you."

"I don't want your Well. Or anything from you," Melora said, putting away her daggers and raising empty palms to Abelas. "And you're right, she is part of our group, and I am its leader. I am responsible for her trespass, and I understand your hostility. I will take her and leave you and your Well in peace."

"And as soon as you do, Corypheus will return to take the Well's power," Morrigan protested. "The Well is the key to this eluvian, his way to the Crossroads and then into the Fade. He will not leave this alone as long as he lives, and he cannot be killed. You know I am right."

Melora frowned, considering this, and then nodded reluctantly. "As soon as the Inquisition pulls back from the temple, he would return for it. We would have to keep the army stationed here permanently, forever, wouldn't we?" she said. "As long as he can keep corrupting troops with red lyrium, as long as he's alive, he won't stop."

"I care nothing for your petty squabbles, shemlen," Abelas sneered.

"This one, you should," Melora replied. "This is not some bickering over borders. This enemy wishes to set himself up as a god and rip open the Fade, to bring the end of all things. I've seen it, what would result. The world would be torn apart, including this temple, and this Well. Everyone, and everything would perish… or worse, to live on in eternal torment."

"And _you_ can fight this?" asked Abelas, the doubt obvious in his tone.

Melora pulled the glove from her left hand and held out her palm to him. "I have been, for almost a year now, with lots of help. I have many allies… these here, and thousands more fighting now outside this temple. And more across all of southern Thedas. We haven't won yet, but we've had more victories than losses. I don't know if we will win, but I intend to fight this to my last breath if need be."

Abelas was silent at this, scrutinizing her closely, and Melora asked, "Could this Well help us?"

"I cannot say," Abelas said, crossing his arms. "The Well holds a great many secrets. One of those may aid you. Or it may have nothing of use to you at all."

"What _is_ the Well?" Melora asked. "What is it for? How does it work?"

Abelas chuckled. "The answers to those questions would take more time to explain than your mortal years could spare. The Well is… who we were. As each servant of Mythal reached the end of their years, they would pass their knowledge on through the Well. And here it has remained, and we have guarded it. Until now, and it seems that all our work has been in vain. One way or another, the Well will be lost forever."

"Not lost," said Morrigan, taking a step toward him. When Abelas bristled, she backed away again and continued, "I wish to _save_ that knowledge. I would have it restored. And I am willing to pay the cost."

"The cost?" asked Melora.

Morrigan sighed. "The inscription in the first chamber, about the Well… I understood more of it than I revealed. It said a great boon is given to those who use the Well of Sorrows, but at a terrible price. The term I deciphered was _'halam'shivinas'_ , the sweet sacrifice of duty. It implies the loss of something personal for duty's sake, yet for those who served at this temple, a worthwhile trade. And, I believe, worthwhile for me, as well."

"And what would you do with this 'great boon'?" Melora asked.

"Corypheus threatens all of Thedas, of which I am a part. My priority is your cause. I would use the Well's knowledge in your service."

"I would sooner see the Well destroyed than in your grasping fingers. Better it be lost than bestowed upon the undeserving," growled Abelas.

"You have the power to destroy it?" asked Melora.

Abelas gave a curt nod. "As a last resort."

"This Well clearly offers power. If it can be turned against Corypheus, can we afford not to use it?" Morrigan implored.

"Not without the consent of its guardians," Melora said, holding Abelas's gaze.

"One does not obtain permission. One obtains the right." Abelas took a long, deep breath, regarding her silently, and she could feel the weight of his judgement heavy upon her. Finally, he said, "You have shown respect to Mythal, and walked the petitioners' path. And your mark of magic is… familiar. I have seen what your enemy can do, and how many of us have fallen today. There are so few of us left… We would not survive another onslaught, and the Well would be lost. So. Is that your desire? To partake of the _Vir Abelasan_ as best you can, to fight your enemy?"

"Who, _me?"_ Melora asked, blinking. "Oh. Maker, I hadn't even…"

"There is a righteousness in you I cannot deny… despite the company you keep," Abelas said, glancing briefly at Morrigan. "But the _Vir Abelsan_ may be too much for a mortal to comprehend. And know you this: no boon of Mythal was ever granted without cost. Brave it if you must, but you shall be bound forever to the will of Mythal."

"Bound to a dead goddess, if she ever did exist?" Morrigan scoffed. "Seems an empty threat."

"Bound, as we are bound," said Abelas, nodding to Melora. "The choice is yours."

"Ah. Must it be a mage?" she asked.

Abelas gave a slow nod. "It is required."

Melora turned back to Solas, and said, "Do you--?"

He cut her off. "No. I will not. Do not ask me again."

Melora blinked. "I was going to ask if you know anything more about this."

"The witch is right about only one thing. We _should_ take the power that lies in this well," Solas said, his face set in a scowl.

"You have such interest in ancient elven things," Melora said, confused. "I would have thought you would jump at the chance to gain more insight into… all of this. Why do you not want--?"

"I will not discuss it," was all Solas would say, and he set his jaw firm.

"Al...right. You don't want to do it, so…" Melora trailed off, glancing at Morrigan, whose steady gaze was more than slightly unnerving.

"Please, I am willing to pay the price the Well demands. Let me drink," Morrigan begged.

"You don't even truly know what that price is," Melora said. "How can you be so sure that it's worth paying?"

Morrigan sighed heavily, shaking her head with a faint, wistful smile. "Legends walked Thedas once, things of might and wonder," Morrigan explained. "Their passing has left us all the lesser. Mankind blunders through the world, crushing what it does not understand: elves, dragons, magic… the list is endless. We must stem the tide or be left with nothing more than the mundane. this I know to be true. I would see the Well's ancient power restored, and I alone have the training to make use of this."

"You alone? Am I not also a mage? Have I not also studied? We have spent hours now, you and I, talking about magical theory. I know you think the Circle's methods quaint, and perhaps they are. But I am not just a Circle mage anymore."

"And the Well is not just _magic._ It is history. A legacy. You have enough of one to bear as it is," Morrigan said. "Besides. You are the Inquisitor. You have too much at stake to risk this yourself. Is not being Andraste's Herald enough? Must you also be pledged to Mythal?"

Melora gestured at Morrigan and said, "What about you? Your life? What about your son? He's so young, and you're all he has. What would he do without you?"

An expression of sadness passed over Morrigan's face like the shadow of a cloud, and she said, "He is… resilient. He would survive. I survived Flemeth's 'mothering,' and having no mother at all might have been better than _that._ "

"He shouldn't have to just survive. He has a good mother," Melora said gently, looking up at Morrigan.

Morrigan's hard features seemed to soften a moment, but then she pressed her lips tight together and shook her head. "I would still do it."

Chewing at the inside of her lips, Melora looked to the others, frowning. How was this her decision? Thousands of years of ancient elven heritage, history, knowledge… and it lay in her hands. But then, it always had, hadn't it? _Everything_ lay in her hands. The lives of everyone in Thedas were hers, in a way. If she gave up, if she walked away, she would doom them just as surely as her enemy. She already had power greater than anyone should ever have. What was a puddle of old knowledge in comparison?

Melora turned away from the others, stepping to the edge of the Well. The liquid within shuddered and seethed. And though the air remained still, she could hear that whispering once more. She stared into it, and as she did, the surface beneath her reflection went smooth, though the rest of the pool still rippled. She could see her own reflection there clearly: the scar on her forehead, a smear of mud on her cheek, and leaves stuck in her hair. And then, her reflection began to shimmer and shift, and upon her brow appeared a pointed mask.

It was still her, but it was also not her, and she lowered herself to her hands and knees, peering down into the Well. The hair of her reflection flowed free as if floating underwater, studded with points of light like a starry sky. Her mirrored self peered back at her, and she saw the image of her own face there clearly, obscured only by the gleaming pointed mask. And behind it, her eyes glowed with firelight.

Within her veins, she felt an answering surge of flame, and though she did not move herself, her reflection responded with a smile, reaching out toward Melora with fingers curled in beckoning. Melora sucked in a sharp breath through trembling lips. Was this who she was now? Or who she _could_ be?

The lessons of her teachers in the Circle echoed through her mind. _Demons rarely come grotesque to the unwary. They come as ripe fruit, glittering jewels, a beautiful face, and with attractive promises. Beware that which you desire._

But was it desire? She had not come here seeking this, and the churning nervousness in the pit of her stomach didn't feel much like she wanted this. Yet _something_ within her stirred, drawn to this. Was this where the fire in her blood had been leading her? The fire she saw in her reflection's eyes seemed somehow alike to the fire inside her and as she watched raptly, from behind the back of her reflected self, like a cloak lifted by the wind, a pair of dark, gleaming wings that unfurled and stretched. Dragon's wings.

Her journeys had brought her here, her path leading to the edge of this pool, to this temple which seemed at once unfathomably strange, and oddly familiar. The Maker's hand must be in this somehow, guiding her on the path to victory. Surely she been led here then, for this power, to take it in Andraste's name.

"I'll do it," Melora said, pushing back from the Well and standing up to face the others. "I will drink from the Well."

"What?" Cassandra looked horrified. "No! If this must be done, if we must meddle in this blasphemy, let Morrigan take the risk! The Herald of Andraste cannot pledge herself to some… elven god."

"I do not. I cannot," Melora explained, opening her palms to Cassandra, her mark glimmering faintly there. "I am an instrument of the _Maker's_ will. It is _because_ I am Andraste's Herald that I must do this. I can't be corrupted by whatever compulsion that may result because of her protection. How could I be bound to the will of Mythal when the Maker already guides me and Andraste protects me? I will not be harmed, and I cannot ask anyone else to do this in my service."

"You ask for this and more from people every day," Morrigan insisted. "I wonder, your soldiers fighting outside... is it Andraste's name they invoke, or does a more immediate name come to their lips? Will they die speaking it while we stand here debating philosophy? I _understand_ there is a risk, and I am willing to take it. Can you risk failure on the weight of your _faith?_ "

"The Inquisition stands on faith. I see fire and go towards light. The Maker is my beacon and my shield, my foundation and my sword." Melora said, lifting her chin. "And… you have kept things from me, this very day. You withheld information that might have been useful, and did not give a full translation of what you understood."

"I merely waited until the information was useful. If I had wished to mislead you, I would have remained silent entirely," said Morrigan.

"I am the Inquisitor, and this is my mission. _I_ will decide what information is useful," Melora said, and she looked back to the well. "And _this_ could be _very_ useful. If nothing else, it denies my enemy access to it, and to the eluvian."

"And keeps it from me, also," Morrigan said with a scowl.

Melora sighed, frowning at Morrigan. After all the time they'd spent talking on the journey here, Melora found she quite liked Morrigan. The way Morrigan used her magic and embraced her own power was so different than anything the Circle taught, and her prickly nature gave way once one proved themselves worthy of her time. "You are… a fascinating person, and I take no pleasure in denying you this. But you serve yourself above all. I understand it. In a way, I respect it," Melora said, though she knew her words would not do much to soothe the sting of this. "But I cannot put something of this power in the hands of someone who will not tell me the full truth."

"You would take what little knowledge you can understand, and let the rest go to waste?" Morrigan demanded.

"Who says I'm going to waste it?" Melora shot back. "Or that I wouldn't share it? If there really is generations of ancient knowledge contained here, elven history that has been lost, I would not keep that to myself."

"Nor would I," Morrigan insisted, her voice thick with sincerity.

"Then I hope that once this is done, you will remain, and help record whatever insights come with this."

"I am sure that having the weight of Andraste's Herald behind the words won't hurt in seeing them spread," Morrigan said, sniffing and crossing her arms. But she did have a point. Any knowledge passed on by the Well would hold far more weight coming from the Inquisitor.

Morrigan lowered her head, took a deep breath, and then nodded with resignation.

Turning to Abelas, Melora asked, "What must I do?"

"Drink, nothing more," Abelas replied, as if that explained enough.

"Does she have to drink the whole thing? Is there some kind of special cup, or maybe a ceremonial straw?" Varric asked.

Abelas shot Varric a withering look, and then rolled his eyes before saying, "A mouthful is sufficient. How it is done is not my concern."

"But if it's single use and only needs a mouthful, why the big outdoor wading pool? Couldn't it have been a Small Fountain of Sorrows? Or like a Teacup of Sorrows? That seems more practical, and a lot easier to keep it from filling up with leaves and bird shit," Varric said, scratching at his chin.

Cassandra elbowed him in the shoulder. "Hush," she hissed. "This is serious."

"I am serious! Why go to all this trouble when a Reasonably Sized Bucket of Sorrows would do just as well?"

Melora looked to the Well and its shifting surface and drew a long, shaking breath. This was not how she expected this day would go.

Though he had been mostly quiet up until now, staying close for her protection but allowing her room to lead, Bull stepped up behind her now and placed a hand on her back, and for a moment he just kept his hand there, steadying her. His touch was firm, just his presence offering silent support. Then, he said, "This is the right choice." His voice was low, speaking only to her. "If anyone can handle this crap, it's you."

Melora half turned to give him a thin, grateful smile over her shoulder. "Well," she breathed, shaking her hands at her sides to try to calm her nerves. "No sense waiting. Let's get this over with…"

Bull's hand fell away, and Melora walked to the edge of the Well and knelt there once more. She could feel the eyes of the others upon her, and a silence fell over them all, the wind dying back, the whispers stilled in anticipation.

She stripped away her other glove and tucked it into her coat pocket, and looked down at her hands, dirt beneath her nails. She had no cup to dip into the pool, and the idea of bending over and lapping at it like a cat lacked the grace and dignity required here. So she cupped her dirty hands together and lowered them beneath the surface of the Well of Sorrows.

It was _cold,_ an icy chill that burned, not water at all but _something_ else, completely opaque so that her hands disappeared from view, even her mark's light swallowed by it. She lifted a handful of the water to her lips, the cold burning her skin, but she stopped then to close her eyes and said softly, "Do not grieve for me, Maker of All. Though all others may forget you, your name is etched into my every step. I will not forsake you, even if I forget myself." And before she could hesitate, she gulped back a mouthful of the chill liquid.

In an instant, the rest of the Well dissolved into a swirl of cold, dark steam that burst out from the pool and knocked all assembled to the ground.

And when Melora opened her eyes, she was alone, a strange fog around her. And the whispers were here too, louder than ever before, no longer wind. She sensed the presence of a great many others around her, and she could feel them scrutinizing her. What _were_ they? Spirits? Ghosts?

"Garas quenathra?" Why are you here?

They whispered to her, as one voice and many voices. And to her amazement, Melora realized she could understand what they were asking.

"I-- I am here because I am fighting an enemy that threatens to destroy the world," she replied, turning in a slow circle, trying to see into the fog. "He seeks your power for himself, and will use it to bring about the end of everything. I need your help. Or if you cannot help me, I need to be sure you will not help him."

There came a chorus of whispers, all at once, as if they were conferring among themselves.

"Sha ir vhenlellin." She is of familiar blood.

"Suvevin?" A coincidence?

"Banal suvevinnen." There are no coincidences.

"Sha tel lethar." She does not know.

"Himala sha elu lethar." She will know soon.

Melora frowned, looking around helplessly. "What does that mean? I… I understand the words but not what you mean."

"Himala ar dirthara bellarhis isala." Soon you will come to know all that you need.

"Then… does that mean you'll help me?"

"Mythal enaste." Blessings of Mythal be upon you.

The spirits whispered their blessing to her, and as their voices faded, dozens of tiny points of light appeared from out of the gloom, like fireflies that glowed pale blue. They floated toward her, coalescing before her into a shimmering orb that hung in the air before her. She watched them there, and understood as if in a dream, they were individual and one, and so would they also be in her. Yet she did not fear it.

And they were waiting for her.

She lifted her hands and cupped them around the bright glow, and stepped into it. A searing coolness bathed her face in a pattern that branched across her forehead, and then sank over her like a chill mist.

"Thenaven, dael dahlenen. " Awaken, little sister.

Melora woke with a gasp, utterly disoriented and dazzled by the brightness of the sky above her. She brought a hand to her forehead, sure she would feel that branched design branded there, but she only felt unbroken skin damp with cold sweat.

"Breathing. Good. Let's keep that up," she heard Varric say, and she lifted her head to look around.

The others were crowded around her beside the now-empty Well, and Bull knelt beside her, his hand on her shoulder.

"Oh, thank the Maker," Cassandra said, reaching out to touch Melora's other arm.

"Why's everyone so… you all look terrible," Melora mumbled, trying to push herself upright. Bull slid his hand under her back, helping her up.

"You, uh, stopped breathing for a couple minutes there." Bull said, a tremble in his voice. His hand, still on her back, was shaking. "How do you feel?"

"I have a headache," she said, rubbing at her forehead. "And I feel like I could sleep for a week."

Standing nearby, Abelas inclined his head to her, and said, "Our duty ends. All that remains here is stone."

"There is a place for you, _lethallin,_ if you seek it," Solas said, taking a step forward.

Abelas said nothing, only gave a rueful smile and turned to leave.

Melora pushed herself to her feet, suddenly overcome with the need to tell him something, and though her head pounded and swam, she stumbled after him and said, "Wait, please?"

He half turned, giving her an impatient look.

She frowned, not knowing what she had intended to say, and she licked her lips nervously, looking down at the ground as if searching for the answer there.

But then she flicked her gaze back up to him, the crease between her brows fading as she stood steady with her hands folded and said to him in a voice that was not quite her own, _"Ma serranas ar shivanas, Abelas, mar ar hellathen tel halam. Halani ma ashlennen. Ma elu nehn himala." My gratitude for your service, but your work is not over. Help my daughters. I will see you again soon._

Abelas straightened his shoulders, taking several steps toward her with wide eyes. _"Dirthelu ma, astala, lanan ma shivanas? Lanan ma halani?" Tell me, please, how may I serve? How may I help?_

_"Ar elu lethar an melana." You will know in time._

Those strange golden eyes were fixed on her, shining with gathering tears, and Abelas said with the deepest sincerity, _"Tu melanada, ma nadas la mirthadra ar shivanas."_ _For all time, I am bound and honored in your service._

Melora smiled at him for a moment, and then the smile faded, replaced with a confused frown. She brought both hands to her head, groaning at the pounding ache in her skull. This time, when Abelas turned away, he did not turn back, stepping into a gap between the trees around the place where the Well had been, disappearing into the leaves in an instant.

"What the…" spluttered Varric, staring at Melora. "What was that?!"

"I… I don't know. I mean, I know, oh. Oh! I know. I mean I understand, but I don't. It was a message, left for him. Or to give to him? They spoke through me. Or she did." Melora still held her head, everything still far too bright.

"Uhhhhh…. Yeah, sure, gotcha, that really clears it up," Varric replied, baffled.

"Are you certain you are well?" Cassandra asked.

"Yeah, cause that was _weird,"_ Bull added, standing close behind Melora.

But before she had a chance to respond, in the back of her mind, she heard the same whispering.

"Fanim arava!" Danger comes!

Melora sucked in a sharp breath through her nose and said, "We have to go. Now."

"What? Why?" asked Morrigan.

Melora looked toward where they had entered the inner sanctum of the Temple, and there, Corypheus stood alone, seething with rage. And to their collective horror, he lifted into the air on a plume of smoke.

"He can _fly_ now?" cried Varric in horror, staggering several steps back.

He could not be killed. They could not fight him. And they were trapped.

"Ghilas shir ed eluvian." Go through the eluvian.

"Everyone, through the mirror!" Melora shouted, and she threw out her right hand, quickly drawing a sigil in glowing blue in the air before her. The eluvian shimmered to life, glass rippling like water.

"Ohhh, come on," groaned Varric. "Not more weird stuff."

"Beats dead, but yeah, I'm with you on that," replied Bull grimly, grabbing the bundle of unconscious Red Templar general as he ran to the mirror.

Morrigan went through first followed by Solas, and Melora waved the others on, waiting until they had all plunged through the rippling pane. When it was finally her turn, she looked up to see Corypheus approaching. But in between, over where the Well had been, a swirl of pale blue light coalesced into the shape of a woman, suspended high above the ground in a gown of stars. The woman lifted her hands and summoned a great whirlwind of searing brightness that whipped through the overhanging trees, a maelstrom of leaves and debris. Melora raised her arm to shield her eyes, struggling to see what was happening through the glare and wind.

Corypheus was held back, but fought against the barrier, and it quickly began to fail. In a moment, he would be through.

Melora leapt through the eluvian, her ears popping and a strange nausea coming over her as she passed through its shifting field, and as soon as she felt herself land on the other side, she unmade the sigil to slam the eluvian shut behind her.

"Great," Varric said. "We lived! Wonderful. Now what?"

"You follow me," Morrigan replied, and she stalked away across the strange, mist-shrouded landscape of the Crossroads, winding through the rows of broken eluvians.

Melora pushed herself up to see Bull's hand there, offered to help her up, and she gave him a small, grateful smile as she took it and got to her feet. He was slow to release her hand, giving her fingers an extra little reassuring squeeze.

"You are sure Corypheus cannot break through?" Cassandra asked, hurrying to catch up with Morrigan.

"There is but one key to that eluvian that I know of," Morrigan said, and she glanced back over her shoulder to Melora. "And it has been used to lock the eluvian shut tight."

"Did anyone else see… Right before we went through the mirror, there was…" Melora started to say.

The others turned to her curiously. "See what?" Cassandra asked.

"Before Corypheus reached the Well, he was… held back," she said, choosing her words carefully.

"All of us were already through by then, wondering why you did not yet follow," Morrigan said.

"Oh," Melora said softly. "Alright then."

"Did you see something?" asked Cassandra, taking a step toward her.

Melora shrugged and shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe?"

"There will be time to think on it later," Morrigan said, as she stepped to a particular eluvian and gestured in the air before it, charging a subtle spell, activating the mirror's magics. "We should not linger here."

Without further explanation, Morrigan stepped through the eluvian and disappeared. The rest of them followed, stumbling out into… the little room off the courtyard at Skyhold, where Morrigan's eluvian stood.

"We are back at Skyhold?!" Cassandra gasped, going to the door and flinging it open. Outside, it was still a sunny afternoon, the courtyard dotted with people enjoying a quiet moment in the garden. Several faces turned in confusion at the sound of the door slamming open against the wall.

"We are _alive_ aren't we?" grumbled Morrigan.

"But the Inquisition's army is still in the Arbor Wilds fighting, and thinking all of us are still in the temple," Bull said.

"Oh. Right. Shit," said Varric.

Melora staggered to the doorway and looked around, finding the nearest person in an Inquisition uniform. "You there," she called, clutching the door frame and waving to the scout with a curly beard who was reading on a bench nearby. "Find me Charter or Harding in the next five minutes, and you'll drink free at the tavern as long as I'm Inquisitor. I need to send an urgent raven."

"Ah… um… Inquisitor?" stammered the scout, clearly baffled to see her there.

"Shall I repeat myself?" she asked, more wearily than anything.

"No! I-- Of course, right away!" said the scout, tucking his book beneath his arm and hurrying away.

"Varric," Melora said, turning to him and putting out a hand. "Paper and pencil, please?"

"What makes you think that I've got… Actually, fair enough," Varric said with a sniff, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a little notebook and a somewhat chewed stub of a pencil. He held it out to her and then paused, looking at her with a smirk. "What exactly are you gonna tell them, though? 'Dear, Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen… Hi, we're all fine, hope you are too. Soooo… Some interesting things happened in the Temple of Mythal, and to make a long story short, we'll be waiting for you at Skyhold while you all take the long way back through the muddy jungle… Sorry, love and kisses, Inquisitor and Pals.'"

Melora gave him a weary smile and nodded, dropping her hand and leaving the notebook and pencil to him. "Sounds perfect. Can you write that for me? Feeling a little dizzy…" Her head was pounding, a rushing sound in her ears, her vision seemed strange, as if everything around her was too sharp and contrasting. She leaned against the wall beside the door, the stone pleasantly cool against the back of her head, and she closed her eyes.

"I should call the healers--" Cassandra said as she started out the door.

"No, I'm… Heh, what would they even do? I'm fine, I just need to sit down," Melora protested.

Bull was right there beside her, and he leaned down to look at her, cupping her chin in his hand. She saw his frown through half-lidded eyes. "You look awful, boss," he said.

"Thanks, Bull," she said, slumping against the wall.

Bull pulled up upright and put an arm around her shoulders. "I think the rest of you guys can handle letting the others know what happened, yeah? I'm gonna get her up to bed."

Melora started to argue, but her head ached terribly, and she was finding it hard to speak. There wasn't anything else she could do now. They would send word to the others and hope to hear back that the Inquisition had triumphed against the Templars. But it would take time for the ravens to make it to the Arbor Wilds, and longer for a response to return. They could not risk using the eluvians to travel back, if Corypheus might still be waiting on the other side for his chance to enter the Crossroads.

So Melora just leaned her head against Bull's side and nodded a little. All she wanted right now was to sleep.

Bull stooped a little lower and swept one arm under her knees, the other behind her back, and lifted her off her feet. She made a small, surprised noise, trying to smack at him but managing only to paw weakly at him instead. "I can walk," she grumbled.

But Bull held onto her and headed for the door. He spoke softly to her, his voice a rumble in his chest against her. "It's a lot of steps up the stairs to your bed," he said, following the colonnade around the courtyard, staying within the cool shadow. "And you look like you're about to drop."

"What must it look like? Are people staring?" she asked, pressing her face to his armored chest.

"I'm gonna guess that they'll be more curious how we got back here so fast. You overdoing it and wearing yourself out ain't anything of note anyway. That's just another Firesday around here," he said, giving a grateful nod to a porter who scurried over to get the door. As he walked into the great hall with her, he looked down at her and said quieter, "Besides, you want to keep up the appearance of 'business as usual', this seems like a pretty good way."

The _appearance_ of business as usual. Was that what they had been doing? Did it still count as pretending when every time she had woken in their tent, she had been curled against him with his arms around her? When they gathered around the fire in the evenings and she leaned her head against Bull's side, she thought little of appearances. The pain came not in having to maintain the pretense… but in knowing she was pretending nothing, yet now all she could have was the illusion of him, having never truly had his reality.

Maker, her head was killing her, her thoughts swimming untethered. It felt so strange to be back here so suddenly and so soon, and between her pounding head and the events of the day, Melora gripped a strap on Bull's armor, holding onto him when everything else felt unreal.

"You don't have to worry about anything right now. You just try to relax. I've got you. Just gonna get this door here…" Bull stooped to unlock the door to the tower, the key kept in one of his various pockets, and then kicked it shut behind them. "Aaand then start climbing like a thousand stairs… Why they couldn't have put your bedroom down here, I don't know."

"Ar gilthar vesen?" You trust this one?

The voices sounded almost confused, and Melora groaned, pressing the heels of her hands to her forehead.

There was a rush of whispers from every corner of her mind and a sudden strange flicker of images and sensations, all of them related to Bull. It felt as though the whispers were searching through her memories, riffling through a hundred images, flashes of him both precious and painful, discussing their findings with one another. It was a disquieting, slithering feeling, and Melora shuddered.

"Sha lath vesen." She loves this one.

"Na dar han haden?" After what he has done?

"Elath an varanas van hen! Alas ma hemalin shavaras, darmalin lath hen osha." Look at the size of him! If I were solid, I would love him too.

"Vas valathan, la ar melasar alasan." So long, and you continue to be filthy.

"Vas valathan, la ar melasar atishatha." So long, and you continue to be boring.

Melora rubbed at her eyes, laughing sadly as Bull carried her up the stairs. Maker, what had she gotten herself into? Was she doomed to hear these strange voices forever?

"You alright?" Bull asked, "I mean, really alright, not the kind of alright you usually try to be when other people are around, whether you really are or not."

"I don't know yet," she said as he opened the last door to her room. "But... I'm alive, and seem to be staying that way."

Bull climbed the final set of steps and brought her over to the bed. The room was chill, the fireplace cleaned and prepared but not lit. Everything else was exactly as she had left it before departing for the Arbor Wilds. She just hadn't expected to be back here so soon.

He sat down on the bed beside her and turned to unfasten her boots, and after a moment, he asked, "You want to talk about what happened? I… I gotta admit, I'm curious."

"Later," she said, closing her eyes as he lifted one boot from her foot and set it aside. "I'll tell you everything. Once I understand it myself."

"You think it's gonna give you something to help?"

"Right now all it's giving me is a _terrible_ headache," Melora said, draping her forearm over her eyes.

Bull set the other boot down on the floor and unfastened her armor, removing it piece by piece and laying it on the floor. His hands moved quickly, but he was gentle with her, trying not to jostle her too much, and she shifted to make it easier as he slipped her vest and breastplate from beneath her.

When he was done and she was down to the light blouse and trousers she wore beneath all the padding and armor, he stripped off his own boots and armor and then went over to the fireplace. She heard the crackle of his knees as he knelt to light the fire. With her eyes still closed, Melora flicked her wrist and a tiny shower of sparks fell upon the wood and tinder laid in the fireplace. Bull made a small noise of surprise and turned to look at her. She tried to hold back a smirk, but could not.

Bull came back over to the bed, sitting down beside her once more. After a moment's hesitation, he laid down next to her, head propped up on the corner of his horn. A shadow passed briefly over her closed eyes, and she felt the thick, calloused pads of his thumb and forefinger upon her forehead, rubbing at the crease of pain there. Melora sank into the bed, relaxing at his gentle touch, and though the pressure in her head continued, she felt the first tendrils of sleep reaching out to her.

"Hey boss," Bull said, his voice a soothing murmur, cracking ever so slightly around the edges, "I'm really, _really_ glad you didn't die."

Melora curled onto her side close to him. "Me, too," she breathed sleepily. With a little hum, she added, "Wish I hadn't left my knitting in the Arbor Wilds, though."

Bull chuckled, still gently rubbing at her aching head as she drifted off. "I think a raven could probably carry a ball of yarn and half a sock. Maybe you can get them to send it ahead."

The whispers came just as softly, as if they did not wish to rouse her.

"Aramala ir te sumei. An lath, aranaris an sahlin, dael dahlenen." Life is too short. In love, live for the moment, little sister.

But for now, all she could do was sleep. Within a few minutes, she was snoring softly, unaware of Bull's eye upon her, watching the pulse at her throat and the rise and fall of her chest for a long time, the end of her braid twisted around his fingers, the only part of her he could hold tight without waking her.


	37. Chapter 37

With the army still making the long trek from Arbor Wilds, the evening services in Skyhold's tiny chapel were quieter than usual. Only a few dozen had come to sing the Chant rather than the entire room packed and spilling out into the courtyard. 

Melora had lingered after, as she often did, talking to the cleaners and porters, cooks and guards. Her face was too well known now to disguise herself to walk among them as one of them, as she had done before she became Inquisitor. But here, they could see her as she was: just a person, dressed not in armor or finery, but simple linen and wool, and who had a sneezing fit halfway through the Canticle of Trials. Some of them were too nervous to do more than shake her hand and say hello, or give a nod from the back of the room, while one stablehand showed up often to ask her opinion on obscure parts of the Chant. Ossie was often there, too, fully recovered from his injuries at Haven and eager to show off to the other young mages by hanging around his close personal friend, the Inquisitor herself. More than once, she had to shush him and his group, who were laughing during services, but it was done with a smile; it was good to see Ossie settling in and making friends, happy and carefree like a boy his age should be. They'd even roped Cole into their group, though he seemed mostly baffled by the whole thing, but he did seem to like the singing.

Once the small group thinned and Melora made her way out into the courtyard, the sunshine was beginning to wane, and Melora lifted her face to soak up the last fading rays of warmth. From the back of her mind came a faint chorus of pleasant sighs. She had not yet grown used to sharing her head with others, but they took up little room, and they seemed to delight in simple pleasures: eating and drinking, a comfortable bed, and the sun on her skin.

"Oh, it's you," said a small voice from close by. Melora turned to see Morrigan's son, Kieran, sitting crosslegged on a nearby bench, a large book spread across his lap.

"Yes, it is," Melora said with a smile. "Hello, Kieran." She'd seen the boy several times, and though Morrigan had talked about him, Melora hadn't yet had the chance to speak to him before.

"It's not _just_ you, is it, though?" he asked, grinning up at her.

Melora blinked. "What do you mean?"

" _You're_ not just you," replied Kieran, his eyes as bright and clever as his mother's… and the slightly chiding, derisive tone hers as well. "You're them, too. And… something else."

Tilting her head, Melora gave a helpless shrug. "I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean."

Kieran smirked at her. "Of course you do! Or _they_ understand, at least. But it's really the same thing, isn't it?"

"Um…?"

"You're very short, you know," Kieran said. "I thought you'd be taller."

"I get that a lot," Melora replied, her smile still somewhat confused. "A lot of people think I'm a dwarf at first."

Kieran burst out laughing, rocking back on the bench. "A dwarf!" he crowed, and when the giggles subsided, he shook his head and said, "Well, I guess your blood _is_ very old. Most of it, anyway."

Melora's smile faded. "What?"

"I thought you'd be scarier, too. Mother said you were scary," Kieran said, pulling at a loose thread on the hem of his trousers.

"She did?"

Kieran nodded. "I don't know why. You seem nice for someone who kills so much."

She stared at the boy in disbelief, not knowing what to say. What kind of child spoke like this? Yet there seemed no sinister air around him, and he smiled up at her, his face cheerful and bright. Perhaps his strangeness came from being Morrigan's son, brought up under her... unusual and esoteric influence.

Melora heard footsteps on the stepping stones approaching, and turned to see Morrigan regarding her with a curious look.

Morrigan inclined her head to Melora and said, "Kieran, were you bothering the Inquisitor?

"I was just saying hello, Mother," Kieran said.

"He wasn't bothering me at all," Melora said, and she smirked at Morrigan. "Scary, am I?"

Morrigan looked to her son with narrowed eyes and then shrugged, looking unruffled. "Yes. Someone who holds the amount of power and influence that you do is inevitably someone to fear, regardless of what they actually do with that power."

"Kieran doesn't think I'm scary," Melora replied.

"Not yet," Kieran said, looking down at his book and turning the page. "You will be soon, though."

Seeing the baffled look on Melora's face, Morrigan asked him quickly, "Have you finished the fourth chapter?"

"Yes, Mother. And the one after," he said without looking up.

"Good. I will ask you questions about it later, so be sure you're reading thoroughly," Morrigan said, her voice taking on an uncharacteristic gentleness when she spoke to him.

"Yes, Mother," Kieran said again, a tad wearily.

"Inquisitor, a moment?" Morrigan said to Melora, her tone growing formal and stiff once more.

Morrigan led the way to the nearby gazebo and took a seat. Melora sat opposite her, and said, "Your son's, ah, he seems nice?"

"You sound unsure of that."

Melora shook her head and laughed softly. "No, no, oh, I'm sorry, I know how that must have sounded. I just mean… he said a couple of odd things to me, but I suppose I should have expected your son would be… unusual. And I do mean that in the best way."

Morrigan smirked, folding her hands together on her lap. "Then… I will take it in the best way. He _is_ a special lad."

"I'm sure he is. And it's interesting to see you with him. There's a softness to you that's… different than how you usually are. I wouldn't have thought of you as so… motherly."

Rolling her eyes, Morrigan sniffed at the thought of being soft in any way, and said, "Nor would I have, before he was born. It is a very strange role, to be sure. But if I do anything well by Kieran, it will be to inflict as little damage as possible. I know better than most that no one could harm him more than I. So no son of mine will be raised in a marsh, bereft of contact with the outside world, having to hide away."

"Well, there are quite a few other children his age around here at Skyhold. And it is quite safe."

Morrigan chuckled to herself. "More than you know. The magic in this place has seeped into the stones, protecting it from darkness. Those who let it fall to ruin did not know what they possessed. You, I think, will do it justice."

"You… you know of Skyhold's history?" Melora asked.

"This fortress was built on the remains of a site holy to the ancient elves. They called it Tarasyl'an. 'The place where the sky is kept.' It is said that from here, they reached up to the heavens to bring them down to rest. They abandoned it, as did the humans who came after them. Bones laid upon bones, silent until your arrival. And now, it is party to events that threaten to shake the world." Morrigan lifted her hands, gesturing as she spoke, her voice growing slow and dramatic. She liked to spin a good tale.

"Huh. Solas mentioned the name, and we knew there was some sort of enchantment, but that's more information than some of the mage scholars have been able to dig up in months of research." Melora looked out at the courtyard, glancing at the high stone walls that protected them. "Mm, well, whatever its origins, it's served us well. We needed a place like this. We were so lucky to have found it."

"Fate is often mistaken for luck, as Mother is fond of saying," Morrigan said with a chuckle, and then she paused before she said, "What I wished to speak to you about… Now that you have had some time to adjust to it, I wonder what the Well has revealed to you. You said you would share it."

Melora nodded. "And I still intend to. But I think the idea of it as a… a cache of information, like a library where I can just… choose what I want and flip through the pages was not at all correct. It's not even memories exactly. And what I can get from it is… not at all clear."

"Is it of so little use, then? Or could it be a lack of knowledge preventing a full understanding of what has been given?"

Melora ignored the barb and gave a small shrug. "Maybe."

Morrigan gave a huffing little laugh. "Well, seems as though all you've done, then, is keep the Well from Corypheus. Though I suppose that _is_ important."

"No," Melora said. "I didn't even do that. Corypheus could have never taken the power of the Well. It cannot be taken without being judged worthy by its guardians. They would have killed his 'vessel' rather than see the Well's power be turned toward such a purpose."

"But he fought so hard for it, and brought so many of his troops. He appeared himself, with his archdemon. Why would he do that if it was all in vain?"

"He must not have known. He wishes to ascend to godhood, and believes his cause to be righteous, in his own twisted way. Perhaps he assumed they would approve of his plans. Or he didn't care, and thought he could take it by force."

"Is that not inevitable for the powerful? To believe in the rightness of their own actions, that they are justified if it helps their cause?" Morrigan gave Melora a pointed look.

"I hope not, for all our sakes. But if you believe I'm taking the wrong path, please, speak."

"I spoke at the Well, and you did not listen. But I understand why," Morrigan said, her voice low and solemn, and she looked down at her lap for a moment before asking, "The Well's guardians judged you worthy. I wonder would they have done the same for me and my purpose."

_"Sha dirthara an harelnin. Mar sha ora ir vhenlellin. Sha dar ellinan." She seeks truth through trickery. But she is also of familiar blood. She is worthy._

Melora tilted her head. They had that said that before. _Vhenlellin._ What did that mean exactly? To Morrigan, Melora said, "Yes, they would have."

"How do you know for certain?"

"They told me."

"Who told you?"

"The whispers, the servants of Mythal who lived on in the Well, and now in me."

Morrigan paused a moment, blinking. "They speak to you?"

Melora nodded. "Yes. Just now."

"In ancient elven?"

"Yes. I can understand it, sort of. Some of the context is lost on me, but… they tell me things, when they wish it."

Morrigan's eyes flashed bright with curiosity. "What exactly are they?"

Melora shrugged. "I don't know precisely. I don't think there's a word for what they are. They're like... echoes. They were alive once, priests of Mythal from long ago. There's many of them. I haven't managed to count them yet, but I'm starting to tell which one has spoken. They have sort of… personalities of their own, but they're also… one thing, too? It's hard to explain."

"I can only imagine. Praytell, what, exactly, did they say about me?"

 _"'Sha dithara. Sha dar ellinan,'"_ Melora said. It wasn't the full truth, but it was enough of it. 

"Which means?" Morrigan asked reluctantly, as if it pained her to admit her lack of knowledge.

"'She seeks truth. She is worthy.'"

Morrigan considered this, and glanced aside at Melora. "'Is'? Not 'would have been'?"

"I doubt you stopped being worthy when the Well's power became unavailable to you."

Morrigan gave a small snort. "Well, 'tis no point in wondering now. The Well is yours, for what good it does you."

"It may still be of use," Melora said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "The whispers seem to give me information at their own pace and whims. I… almost get the feeling they are learning as much from me as I am from them. And I certainly have no shortage of things to do in the mean time. We've gotten a lead on where we might find the remainder of the Red Templars, so I expect we'll be heading off before the army even gets back. No sense sitting around here doing nothing when there's so much to be done."

"Never an idle moment for the Inquisition, hm?" Morrigan mused.

"Indeed," Melora replied with a nod, and then after a pause, she said, "You know, I've been meaning to ask you… I'd heard of magic like yours, the ability to turn into animals. But we were taught in the Circle that it was a myth. I see that it isn't. You can turn into a bird."

Morrigan gave a sly smile. "I can become a great deal more things than just a bird." She seemed pleased to be the one with desired knowledge again.

"Really?" Melora asked, leaning over her knees. "Like what?"

Laughing softly, Morrigan leaned back on the bench, giving a languid shrug. "All manner of creatures. Snakes, cats… Becoming a giant spider is both incredibly useful in combat, and also excellent for eliciting the most wonderfully terrifying screams when done without warning. I made the king of Ferelden nearly wet himself once with that. Oh, and I became a bear once just to move a very large wardrobe. Though I believe my favourite form is a panther. That shape is... comfortable, somehow, good for stretching the shoulders."

"The king of Ferelden? Really?" Melora giggled. She'd met him once, when they'd welcomed the apostate mages into the Inquisition, and the thought of Morrigan toying with such a powerful man for her own amusement was... truly, very Morrigan. 

Morrigan waved a hand as if dismissing the thought. "Oh, t'was long ago, before he became king. We... crossed paths during the Fifth Blight."

"Could you become any creature?" Melora asked eagerly.

"Yes, provided I have sufficient understanding of its nature. Larger creatures are more difficult, requiring more power. It's easier to start small, and to cast to become small. But one cannot merely decide to become a raven. One must understand what it is to _be_ a raven," Morrigan explained, spreading her fingers aside, almost as wings.

"Can it be taught, the technique?"

"Certainly, had I the inclination, and the pupil sufficient skill and preexisting knowledge of transfiguration magic."

"Would you teach me?"

Morrigan raised an eyebrow, lips twisting as she thought. "Surely you have nothing to learn from _me,_ as you are already so vastly educated and with a mind full of ancient elven whispers to teach you all you wish to know."

"The Circle doesn't teach your kind of magic. And the whispers are silent on this subject." Melora paused then, nibbling at her lower lip before she said gently, "I never said I know more than you, and I value your knowledge. If you don't wish to teach me, I understand. I know I've upset you not letting you drink from the Well. I still believe I made the right choice, but I am sorry that I've upset you."

Rolling her eyes, Morrigan gave a little huff. "You think me so petty? You did what you thought was best and though I do not agree with it, 'tis no matter. The goal is still stopping Corypheus, and that is what I intend to help you do. If knowing how to transform into a bird might somehow assist you in this fight, I see no reason why not to teach you. 'Tis no terribly difficult technique."

Melora leaned in further, grinning eagerly, and Morrigan laughed softly. "Well, essentially, you wrap the veil around yourself and let it shift until you find the threads in which you are the shape you wish to be. Finding that shape is a matter of…" As she spoke, she leaned forward to look to where Kieran had been reading in the sunshine nearby in the garden. But a frown creased her brow, and Melora followed her gaze. Kieran was gone.

Morrigan did not finish her sentence. Instead, she got up to the bench and said to herself, "Now, where did he go?" 

"Hmm?" Melora looked over to the bench and shrugged. "He's a young boy, probably went exploring, or needed the toilet." She stood too, glancing about for the boy. 

"He would not leave without telling me so," Morrigan said, still frowning. 

"He's a kid. Surely he's just wandered off… catching frogs or begging sweets off the nobles or something," Melora said, walking out into the garden after Morrigan.

"I know my son," Morrigan insisted, her voice edged in a growing fear, gaze whipping one way and then the other, as if moving quicker would make the boy appear. "He would not simply _wander off._ He would have said something."

"It's alright. There are fewer places safer than this in all of Thedas. There's lots of children here, and even more eyes looking out for them. He's probably just--"

While Melora spoke, Morrigan looked down at a ring upon her finger and rubbed her thumb across it. Its domed crystal stone turned cloudy grey for a moment.

"He's… he's not here. He's not anywhere," Morrigan said with dismay. "How can that--"

Morrigan stopped suddenly, eyes going wide. The colour drained from her face and she looked to the far end of the courtyard. "The eluvian," she gasped. "Oh, no."

Without another word, Morrigan took off running across the stepping stones that led to one side of the colonnade. She barely slowed as she burst through the door to the small side room near the chapel, where her eluvian was kept.

Melora chased after her, reaching the little room just after Morrigan.

The eluvian stood already open, its mirrored surface rippling with shimmering energy, and Morrigan hardly slowed, disappearing through it in a blink. Melora skidded to a stop, glancing back at the door. It seemed reckless to go charging into an open eluvian without even letting anyone know she was going… But by the time she did so, Melora might not have been of any help. And she had never seen Morrigan so shaken, not even when they had been attacked by the archdemon.

So Melora stepped through the eluvian, closing her eyes and holding her breath as she did. It was like being doused in cold water, and she gasped as she came out the other side.

Immediately, she knew something was wrong. This was not the Crossroads. This was the Fade.

"Oh, not _again!"_ Melora groaned, looking around in fear. The eluvian still stood open behind her, an escape route if necessary. This time, Melora didn't even have her daggers. She was unarmored, and she could not cast here. 

But as she looked around, she realized that it was different this time, and gradually, the panic subsided. This was not the lair of the Nightmare. The landscape was strange and otherworldly, made not of substance but of potential, as if all were clay, waiting for a hand to shape it, cloaked in a heavy, pale mist that obscured its contours. High above, she could see the Black City floating there, out of reach and still deeply unsettling to see. 

Where was Morrigan, and Kieran? And how had they ended up _here?_

She took a few tentative steps forward, unable to see the ground beneath her feet, the mist up to her knees obscuring everything beneath, if there even _was_ anything there. It was like walking on sand, sinking and sliding with every step, but she kept going.

Was that a shape ahead? There seemed to be _something_ there, and Melora took a glance back at the eluvian, blurry and harder to see now.

"Kieran?" came Morrigan's voice from not far away, calling for her son. "Kieran! Where are you?"

"Morrigan!" said Melora, following the sound.

"Oh!" Morrigan gasped as Melora came into view. "Please, help me look for him."

"Of course." Melora nodded, but then she swallowed hard and said, "This is the Fade. How are we in the Fade?"

"I do not know," Morrigan said, and she sounded as if she were on the verge of tears. "To direct the eluvian here would require immense power. _How_ could Kieran do this? _Why_ would he do this?"

"We can look for him," Melora said, glancing around. "He didn't have time to get very far."

"The Fade is infinite. He could literally be anywhere!" Morrigan moaned. "Whatever happens to him now, 'tis my doing. I set him on this path."

"What path, Morrigan? How did your son open an eluvian at all, much less to the Fade?"

"Help me find him and I will tell you everything. Please."

Melora looked back to the eluvian, its shape only barely visible as the thinnest outline in the mist. If she went any further, she could be lost here forever. And if she was lost, her cause would be lost, too. _Everything_ would end…

But as Morrigan stood there looking at her with terrified, pleading eyes, Melora knew that she could not possibly say no, not to a desperate mother, and not when a child's life was at stake. Kieran was just a boy, wandering alone and lost in the Fade. She couldn't just _leave_ , no matter the stakes. 

"Yes, of course. But how do we even start to…" Melora said, turning in a slow circle. Besides the eluvian, there we no landmarks here, and she wasn't even sure whether the undulations of the landscape were fixed or changing, coming in and out of view as the mists shifted.

"Do the voices say anything?" Morrigan asked.

Melora shook her head. "Not a word."

"Kieran!" Morrigan shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Kieran, please!" Her voice cracked, her eyes welling with tears.

From some ways off, a little light appeared, glowing red-orange like a candle flame, dancing toward them. Melora took a few steps back, wary of anything here, but when it approached them, it bobbed and circled them in a slow, almost curious circle before flitting off to a short distance away. 

Morrgan and Melora looked at each other, and then at the light.

"A spirit?" Morrigan asked.

"It could be. A wisp. Or a demon. Though… according to Solas, they aren't demons until they're corrupted. When they're in the Fade, before a mortal tries to twist their purpose, they're… the way he talks about them, I think he believes them innocent."

Morrigan gave an indignant snort, her eyes still on the orange light. "Well, if _Solas_ says, it must be true."

Melora watched the way it flew away in a particular direction and then back, bouncing in the air as if jittering impatiently. "I think it wants us to follow it." 

"To lead us to Kieran?" Morrigan asked.

"Or to lead us away from him. Or to something else."

"I see no other sign of him, and if this is all I have to go on, then I _must_ follow it," Morrigan said, starting off after the little light.

Melora glanced back to the eluvian again, and then reluctantly followed Morrigan deeper into the Fade. When she looked back again, the eluvian was gone. Beneath her breath, she whispered from the Canticle of Sorrows, "I cannot see the path. Perhaps there is only abyss. Trembling, I step forward, in darkness enveloped. Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide."

How far they walked, Melora could not say, but it did not seem long before another glow stood before them in the mist, this one pale blue, and the orange wisp raced toward it, doubling back to make sure they were still following before rushing ahead once more.

"There he is!" Morrigan said. The mists before them had parted, revealing two figures. Kieran stood there with a glowing pale blue light suspended in the palm of his hand, and someone knelt at his feet. Morrigan stopped in her tracks and gasped. "That's… it can't be!"

As they came closer, Kieran closed his hand, folding that blue light into his palm, and turned to smile at Morrigan. "Mother!" he said delightedly.

But Morrigan's eyes were still on the other one with them here, an imposing and regal older woman in an armored gown, her white hair tied with red ribbons that gave the appearance of horns branching back from her head. "Mother," Morrigan said, her voice flat.

The woman stood, eyeing the two of them approaching with curiosity. Those eyes… they were the same luminous gold as Morrigan's. "Well," she said, her voice a rich purr, "Isn't _this_ a surprise?"

"Is it?" sneered Morrigan doubtfully.

The woman gave a low chuckle, her hand on Kieran's shoulder. "Of course. What an unexpectedly lovely family reunion, hmm? Mother, daughter, and grandson." She looked down at the boy fondly. "How marvelous, a grand _son._ All my years, and there are still new experiences to be had."

"Kieran is _not_ your grandson!" Morrigan shouted, taking a step forward, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "Let him go!"

"As if I were holding the boy hostage!" Morrigan's mother laughed, dropping her hand from Kieran's shoulder and gave him a little pat on the back, urging him forward. "He came to see his grandmother, like a good lad. I'm told sense often skips a generation."

He ran to Morrigan, who dropped to her knees to embrace him, clutching him tight to her and closing her eyes. When she opened them again, they were fixed on her mother in an unblinking glare. Morrigan sat back, looking Kieran over, making sure he was unhurt.

"I'm sorry, Mother," Kieran said. "I heard her calling to me. She said now was the time." He glanced back at his grandmother with a little smile.

"No!" Morrigan said, getting back to her feet and clutching Kieran to her side. "I will not allow it! I know how you plan to extend your life, wicked crone. You will not have me, and you will not have my son!"

"Is that what you think I am here for?" Morrigan's mother asked, arching an eyebrow.

Morrigan looked to Melora and said, "She extends her life by possessing the bodies of her daughters. That was the fate she intended for me. I thwarted her, and now she intends to have Kieran instead!" 

Then, to her mother, Morrigan shouted, "I found your grimoire! I am no fool, old woman! Do whatever you wish, take over my body now if you must, but Kieran will be free from your clutches!"

Morrigan looked down at her son, the boy's wide eyes fearful now, not understanding what was happening. But he could see his mother was upset, and he hugged her to comfort her as much as himself. Morrigan closed her eyes, unable to look at his face as she said, "Perhaps he would be better off without me. Just as I was better off without you." She fixed her mother with a fiery glare. "I am many things, but I will not be the mother you were to me."

Morrigan's mother stared back at her daughter, and the poise of the older woman faltered, her expression stricken. She looked genuinely hurt, and she folded her hands before her, regaining her composure before she said, "I am not here for him. Or for you. I wished only two things. The first, to see who drank from my Well. It has been a _very_ long time."

Morrigan's eyes went wide, and with her arm still around Kieran's shoulders, she pulled him back with her. _"Your_ Well? What?"

With a fascinated smile, Melora asked, " _You_ are… Mythal?"

"You invoke that name so easily. I wonder if you know what it truly means." With those golden eyes sparkling, Morrigan's mother said, "I have had many names. Mythal is one. But you may call me Flemeth."

Melora blinked in amazement and recognition, and took a few steps toward her. "I… I think I know that name. Wasn't it… an old story, from… oh, I forget, the Avvar or maybe the Chasind? About a woman whose husband became jealous of her lover, and betrayed her, and then… something about a spirit who helped her. I read a collection of Fereldan tales that had it. There was an analysis by a Chantry scholar claiming it was a twisting of Andraste's story."

For a moment, Flemeth only stared, and then she blinked a few times and threw her head back and burst out laughing. She brought an armored hand to her chest, still chuckling as she said, "Oh, that's… that's a new one, I like that. But yes, I was that woman, the source of that tale, and... heh, many more."

Melora nodded slowly. "There were other stories about you, too. Helping the heroes of old in Ferelden."

"Oh, not just those of old. I nudge history when required. Other times, a shove is needed."

Melora stared in wonder at the woman standing before her, a being out of myth and legend here in the flesh. Not just Mythal, but Flemeth, too. Both were real, and the mother of someone she knew. And she was standing in the Fade for the third time. Life had been bizarre this past year, but it seemed to have no end to its strangeness. 

Shaking her head in disbelief, Morrigan said, "I do not understand. How can _you_ be Mythal?"

"Easily. I cannot be anything but myself, girl," Flemeth said with a patient sort of smile. "Once, I was but a woman, crying out in the lonely darkness for justice. And then, she came to me, a wisp of an ancient being, and granted me all I wanted and more. I have carried Mythal through the ages since, seeking the justice denied to her."

Melora tilted her head. "A wisp of an ancient being, coming to you in a time of great emotional stress? That sounds like a case of demon possession right out of one of the Circle textbooks."

Flemeth laughed again, shaking her head. "Your Circle was little more than a handful of ignorant children, flailing at things they do not understand. It's all so… counterproductive, the Circle. You steal children from their families, lock them away and tell them their power is evil. You create the perfect place for spirits to become corrupted, and then you wring your hands in woe, and you blame the victims, mage and spirit both."

"No," Melora said. "I don't. Not anymore. I believed in the Circles once, but… they're disbanded now, entirely dissolved. The apostate mages have joined the Inquisition, have joined _me._ And I have the power to make sure they are never imprisoned again."

"Do you, now?" Flemeth asked, smirking.

"Alright, perhaps not _forever._ But I have influence enough that, as long as I live, I will do everything in my power to ensure mages are free."

"Well, now. How lovely to see the youth taking initiative. Warms my old heart."

"Your old heart is incapable of warmth," said Morrigan. "You came here to steal my son!"

"Were you not listening? I have no interest in stealing the boy away from you. He came of his own accord, opened the eluvian himself. Clever lad." Flemeth beamed with pride at Kieran, who smiled back at her. "But then, I am not the only one here who carries the soul of a being long thought lost."

"He is more than that, Mother!" Morrigan protested, pulling Kieran closer to her.

"As am I, yet do you hear me complain? Our destinies are not so easily avoided, dear girl."

"He is not your pawn! I will not let you use him!"

"Have you not used him? Was that not your purpose, the reason you agreed to his creation?"

"That was then. Now… he is my _son._ I know you don't understand what that's like, to care about your own child," Morrigan said, her voice breaking. "But I would give my life for his."

Flemeth's shoulders slumped, and she looked down at her feet, sighing. For a moment, she seemed to lose a measure of her vibrance, but then she shook her head sadly and looked back up at Morrigan. "Why do you seek to preserve the powers that were? Why do you embrace your own power with such fervor? Why do you fight for what you want? It is because I taught you, girl. You may not have drank from my Well, but you drank from my breast. You have been set on a path of my making your whole life. You struggle because you were taught to struggle, and I expect no less from my daughter. I have made you strong, and if you believe I wish to steal your life and your son's, and never cared for you, never held you and sang the old songs to you, never sacrificed for you or feared for you.. well, then it must be true."

"W _hy_ are you here?" Morrigan demanded.

"As I said. I wished to see who had drank from my Well. And, one other thing." Flemeth looked to Kieran and held out a hand to him, beckoning him to her.

Kieran pulled from Morrigan's grasp, and she gave an anguished cry, starting after him, extending her palms and welling power in them, preparing to cast.

Flemeth rolled her eyes and waved a hand, and the spell dissipated harmlessly. "Come now," Flemeth scolded, "That's quite enough of that. You'll endanger the boy. You cannot possibly match my power here, and it is foolish to try."

However magnificent Flemeth seemed to be, Melora could not stand idly by while something happened to an innocent child. "Please," she begged, stepping forward. "Don't hurt him. He's just a boy."

Flemeth ruffled Kieran's hair affectionately, smiling. "He is far more than that. He carries a piece of what was, snatched from the jaws of darkness. And he is also my darling grandson. I would never harm the lad." Her eyes flicked to Morrigan as she said, "Nor you. I am here only for what he carries."

Flemeth turned to Kieran and took both his hands in hers, looking down at him with a pleasant smile. She seemed to concentrate a moment, and then, that same glowing blue light appeared from within Kieran's chest, hanging in the air above him. He watched it curiously as it floated to his grandmother, and sank beneath her skin.

A realization seemed to dawn on the boy, and Kieran's eyes went wide as he grinned. "No more dreams?" he asked.

"No more dreams," Flemeth assured him, and she sent him back over to his mother once more. She looked to her daughter and said, "A soul is not forced upon the unwilling, Morrigan. You were never in danger from me."

Morrigan clasped Kieran's face in her hands, looking down at him, making sure he was alright, and then threw her arms around him, hugging him close.

Flemeth watched the two of them with a strange, wistful look on her face, but then held her head high as she strode to Melora. She placed a finger beneath Melora's chin, looking her over. "Hmm, you are a Herald indeed, shouting to the heavens, a harbinger of a new age. I know of your struggle against the magister who grasps beyond his reach, and I can help you. Listen to the voices of the Well. They will teach you all you need to know and more."

Melora was shaking, looking up into Flemeth's face, and she barely dared speak, "Are you truly a god, then?" she breathed with wide eyes.

Flemeth smiled patiently and shrugged. "What is a god, hmm? I was born a mortal woman. I still bleed, I still feel. And Flemeth has never fully died. Yet Mythal was called a god, and was slain, if such a being could be. She was betrayed, as I was betrayed, yet something of her endured. So it cannot be a matter of mortality, can it? If not mortality, then perhaps godhood is power, a thought shared by many through the ages. And if that is our measure, then any mage of sufficient power would be a god, would they not?"

Melora thought about this, but shook her head. "I don't know."

"Good," Flemeth said, nodding with satisfaction. "Because many of those who have decided there is an easy answer to that question have been the cause of great suffering. Truth is not the end, but a beginning. And I… I am but a shadow, lingering in the sun."

She didn't understand, but Maker, how Melora wanted to. Flemeth's power seemed to radiate around her, and Melora stood in awe of her. "Please, may I ask you… I have so many questions and you must know so much," she stammered.

Flemeth laughed softly, stepping back and folding her hands at her waist. "So polite! Now these are what I call manners. My daughter could do with some lessons on the subject. Certainly, ask whatever you wish."

Melora swallowed hard, so many things rushing through her mind. "Are… are you the same Mythal revered by the elves?"

Flemeth chuckled. "When you stand in a river today, can you stand in the same river tomorrow? We are all changing, and who I was long ago is not the same as I am now. That, I am sure you understand."

"But there is a connection. You're not…?"

"An impostor? No. I am who I say I am."

"But if you're an elven goddess, then why do you look so…?" Melora started, trailing off, gesturing to Flemeth before dropping her hand to her side.

"Human?" Flemeth asked with a chortle. "It has been a long time since anyone accused me of being human. You see round ears and you think human. But it is not _nearly_ so simple as that. And you... should definitely talk to your mother."

Melora blinked, confused. Melora hadn't spoken to her mother in years.

Bemused by Melora's lack of understanding, Flemeth waved a hand and said, "You had other questions, did you not?"

Melora nodded, and hesitated before she asked, "Is the Maker real?"

Flemeth's face seemed to shift through half a dozen emotions rapidly, finally settling on baffled amusement. "Oh, my dear child, ages of knowledge open to your fingertips, and this is what you ask of me?" She tutted to herself, shaking her head. "I had such high hopes for you."

"For… for me? Because I drank from your Well?"

Flemeth chuckled softly. "That does help, doesn't it? But no. I know you likely have had little time to stop and think about what's happened to you. But you keep returning to the Fade, somewhere mortals do not tread. Haven't you considered _why?"_

"Andraste chose me. Marked me, gave me the power to close the rifts. Only one of those times was my doing, though."

"Andraste chose you," Flemeth repeated, musing on the idea with a strange little smile, shaking her head. "Hmm, well, perhaps that's all there is to it, then."

"What, then? I need to know the truth. If I'm clinging to this idea and it's wrong, better that I know," Melora pleaded, holding out her palms beseechingly.

Flemeth smiled, laying both hands upon Melora's shoulders. She looked down into Melora's face with a kindly sort of smile and said, "You have always been on this path. But things have happened that were never meant to happen. I know what you are up against better than you could possibly imagine. We stand on a razor's edge, but that blade has always had _your_ name on it."

"What does that mean? I have some kind of… destiny?"

"There is a purpose for each of us, and as long as the music plays, we dance, even if we don't know why," said Flemeth cryptically, smirking to herself.

Melora shook her head, not understanding but feeling as though the meaning of it were just beyond her grasp. It was not every day one stood in the presence of a god… A god who was supposed to be dead or gone, and one to whom Melora had pledged herself. "Abelas said I would be bound to you," Melora asked. "What does that mean? Am I to serve you?"

"Is that how you see yourself? As a servant?"

Staring up at Flemeth, Melora could not fathom the thought of disappointing her again, but she couldn't bear the thought of lying to her, either, or answering this question any other way, and she looked away from those piercing golden eyes to say, "Yes. I serve the Maker and his will. I serve Andraste. And I serve the people of Thedas."

"But not Mythal," Flemeth said.

"It was implied I would be compelled to, whether I wanted to or not. The details were… fuzzy, at best."

Flemeth chuckled softly. "Yes, Abelas is like that." She tilted her head and crossed her arms, shrugging a little. "I could compel you to do as I wished. To order you, or simply make you believe you wanted to do it all on your own. But… I won't. Your cause is important, and you must see it through. And you have given me something very precious." Flemeth's eyes flicked to Kieran, and she winked at the boy. He giggled at her.

"What do you mean?" Melora asked.

But Morrigan understood, drawing a soft gasp in realization. "The Well," she said. "'Tis how she found us, after all this time. You drank, and through you, she knew where Kieran was."

Flemeth nodded. "And now, I have done what I came for. I have my prize, and I have met the one who drank from my Well. And you are all free to go."

"Just like that?" Morrigan asked, sounding skeptical.

"Just like that," Flemeth replied. "I will never interfere with you or your son ever again."

"I know your plans!" Morrigan insisted. "This is a trick, to lull us into complacency. You need one of us to extend your life!"

Flemeth laughed merrily, eyeing her daughter with amusement. "You believe I have lived this long by letting my continued existence hinge on the whims of one headstrong girl? I created you for a purpose, just as you created your son. And I may be disappointed that you never embraced that purpose, but I suspect in time, you will come to regret what you have rejected so carelessly. But by then, it will be too late. Truly, it already is."

She then turned to Melora, taking her by the hand and smiling kindly down at her. "And you, my dear girl. I have seen into your heart. You know the pain of betrayal, don't you? That stinging cut, you've felt it. You will feel it again before your work is done. But remember, what matters is what you do with it. You can burn so brightly, you can turn all who would dare oppose you to ash, if only you embrace it. Let the voices of the Well be your guide." With that, Flemeth leaned in and pressed a kiss to the middle of Melora's forehead. Softly, she whispered, _"Mythal enaste."_

Flemeth gave Melora's hand a last little squeeze and then released her, glancing back to Morrigan. "Goodbye, my daughter," Flemeth said, her unearthly gaze flicking away for a moment with the heaviness of regret. But then she smiled once more and looked to Kieran. "Look after your mother for me, hm?"

The boy nodded emphatically, and smiling, Flemeth turned and began to walk away.

"Wait!" Morrigan called after her, her voice choked with tears.

Flemeth paused for a moment, but kept walking, and she was quickly swallowed up by the mists of the Fade.

In the long silence that followed, there came only the sound of Morrigan's stifled sobs, trying desperately to swallow back the tears but failing.

When Melora turned to look at her, Morrigan swiped the back of her hand across her nose, and looked away, down at her son. She took him by the shoulders and looked him over. "Are you alright, Kieran?" she asked him, her voice trembling. "You are not hurt?"

Kieran gave a little shake of his head. "I feel lonely."

Morrigan leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of Kieran's head, eyes still wet with tears. "It's alright, Kieran," she said. "Everything is going to be alright now."

"Assuming we can get back out," Melora said, looking around at the featureless haze surrounding them.

But almost as soon as she'd spoken the words, the little orange light reappeared and circled the three of them. Then it darted off in one direction, bobbing there in the air as if waiting.

"Do we trust this to lead us back as well?" Morrigan asked.

"I don't think we have any other option," Melora said, and she started off after the wisp of light.

With Kieran's hand in hers, Morrigan followed, and it was not long before the outline of the eluvian came into view.

When they approached it, the little light started to move away, but Melora called after it, "What are you? Why are you helping us?" she asked. Whatever this thing was, it had led them from the eluvian to Kieran and back again safely.

The warm light twinkled and sparkled, but if it was an answer, Melora could not understand it, and when it moved off again, it did not return. 

Melora and Morrigan looked at each other, and Melora gave a little shrug. "Well, whatever it was, it seemed helpful. And now, we can go back."

Morrigan nodded and led the way through the eluvian, still not letting go of Kieran's hand.

But Melora watched them disappear into the mirror, and she did not. She turned back, looking up at where the Black City loomed high above, staring at it with a question in her eyes and her heart that would not go away. It was the only question Flemeth had not answered.

This was a place that mortals were not meant to tread. And yet, as Flemeth said, Melora was here once more. Why did she keep returning here? How could she be standing here in the Fade again?

But this time, she was alone.

Or was she? This was the Fade, the place of endless potential. Anything could happen here, couldn't it? Anything could be made real if you just wanted it enough…

Melora took a few steps away from the eluvian, her eyes fixed on the Black City, and she sang out as loud and strong as she could, not caring how it sounded. 

"Maker of the World, forgive them!" she sang, sinking to her knees in the mist of the Fade, her voice cracking as she pleaded to the heavens, "They have lived too long in shadow without your light to guide them! Be with your children now, oh Maker."

But her song disappeared into the mist without a rely, without an echo, gone as if they never were. Andraste's words from the Chant, even sung here in the Fade did not seem to rouse the Maker to action.

"Where are you?" she shouted desperately. "Can't you see what's happening? We need you! You could fix all of this, you could fix everything!"

Her eyes burning with tears, she stumbled back to her feet, screaming up at the Black City. "They want _me_ to fix it instead! Me! 'There is but one god and he is our Maker' well then who the _fuck_ was that I just met? You call all other gods false but at least the elves have gods who eventually show up!" 

Chest heaving, Melora sniffled in the silence that followed, and there came no reply.

"Please!" she cried, and softer, her voice broke. "Maker, please?"

The Fade was silent.

Melora sighed, her shoulders sagging, and nodded slowly to herself. She wiped away the tears in her eyes, sniffed, and stepped through the eluvian.

Morrigan was there waiting for her with Kieran, and immediately stepped forward. "What happened? You were right behind us."

Melora shook her head, giving a sheepish smile. "Nothing. I was… merely curious. I'm sorry I worried you. Everything's fine."

Still watching Melora curiously, Morrigan extended a hand and closed the portal, and in the silence that followed, it seemed no one knew quite what to say.

Finally, it was Kieran who spoke. "Mother, I'm hungry. Is it dinner time yet?"

Morrigan gave a soft laugh and smiled down at him. "I do not know. Perhaps you should run along to the kitchen and see."

Kieran grinned at her and raced off out the door, seemingly unharmed and unbothered by what had just happened.

Morrigan heaved a heavy sigh, and she crossed her arms over her chest, glancing at Melora to say, "The more I learn, the more I realize I know so little. Flemeth raised me, and was all I knew for the entire beginning of my life, and while I may have suspected she was not fully human, I never thought… My mother has the soul of an elven goddess, or whatever Mythal truly was, and her plans are unknown to me. And now, she has the soul of an Old God as well. Kieran had a destiny, and now it rests in Flemeth's hands."

"Is _that_ what she took from Kieran?" Melora gasped. "How did your son come to have the soul of an Old God?"

"It was taken from the archdemon, at the last battle of the Fifth Blight."

Melora backed up several steps, aghast. "Your son had the soul of _Urthemiel_ within him? You gave your son the soul of an _Old God?_ Why would you curse a child with such evil?"

Morrigan bristled, sniffing angrily. "You do not understand! He was never cursed. What Kieran was given was the essence of the Old God that once was, _not_ the dark forces that corrupted it. In him, that ancient being could be reborn, apart from the taint."

"But why? Your son! You did _that_ to your own child!"

"He was not a child then! He was but a speck in my womb, not yet taken form, existing for less than a day. And he was not harmed but changed. I gave my son a precious gift, one I would eagerly have accepted myself, had it been possible. I told you at the temple. The magic of old must be preserved, no matter how feared. Yes, at first, Kieran was but a means to an end. I never thought of myself as a mother. I certainly had no good example to follow. But as he grew… he changed me, and I love him as any mother loves her child. I would defend him to my last breath!"

Melora sighed, seeing the sincerity in Morrigan's eyes, the way the tears still threatened to flow, and knew this day had been harrowing enough for her without Melora's judgement. Whatever Kieran had been, it had happened long ago, and now, Morrigan's son was forever changed. "Will… will he be alright?" Melora asked.

"I cannot say what effect this will have on him. He has never known anything else. But… if I take her at her word, and I do not think I do, he is free of Flemeth's clutches, for now." Morrigan glanced to the door. "I should go after him. If nothing else, to ensure the cook doesn't fill him up with peach pie before dinner again."

"Of course," Melora said with a little nod.

Morrigan turned to go but then paused, looking back over her shoulder to say, "Thank you. Truly, _thank you._ You helped me find him. And if you hadn't been there, perhaps things… would have gone differently. And under the circumstances, this is likely the best outcome I could have hoped for." Morrigan gave a soft laugh, shaking her head. "You know, all things considered, I am rather glad now that t'was you who drank from the Well."

Then, Morrigan went off after her son, disappearing off into the courtyard.

Melora sank back against the wall, holding one hand to her forehead and staring at a spot on the floor in front of her, trying to process all that had just happened. She had met a god, or someone akin to one. The deities of the ancient elves were real, and she was bound to one in ways that she did not fully comprehend.

"Are you still there?" she whispered, speaking to the voices of the Well. "Did… did you see all that?"

_"Banal, rai ghilasad an avas." No, we went for a walk._

Melora blinked several times, lips parted in puzzlement, and it slowly dawned on her that they were kidding. Great, this was just what she needed… a head full of _smartass_ ancient elven voices. She groaned, rubbing her forehead, and said, "S-so, will you help me? Like she said?"

_"An melana." In time._

"What does that mean?"

But the whispers said no more.

Melora pressed her lips together, scowling. But there was nothing she could do to force them to speak. She took a deep breath, and with it, she smelled the scent of roast meat and baking bread filling the air. Her stomach gave an answering growl.

She straightened up, brushing her hair back from her face, and smoothed the wrinkles from her blouse. Then she left the little room off the courtyard, closing the door behind her, and headed to the tavern, sidestepping those who tried to talk to her with a polite word and a weary smile. But most everyone was in the great hall or the tavern at this time of day, eating and drinking to greet the evening. And as the sun dipped below the edge of the mountains, Skyhold filled with a fading indigo twilight. 

Melora slipped into the tavern and made her way to her usual corner by the window. Bull and Krem were already there, their empty dinner plates and cutlery stacked on the corner of the table for the busy wait staff. They had a deck of cards sitting between them, but they seemed to be mostly ignoring the game in favour of taking turns throwing nuts into an empty cup.

As Melora approached, Krem plucked a roast nut out of his palm, crunching it between his teeth, and then tossed a second into the cup. "Evening," Krem said, nodding to Melora.

"Boss? You alright there?" Bull asked, straightening up in his seat. Of course he knew something was wrong. He always knew. 

Melora came over and dropped down onto the bench next to Bull. Blinking slowly, she shook her head. "I… I just met Mythal."

"Wait... what?"

"Mythal," Melora repeated. "As in temple of? Elven goddess of… stuff. Turns out she's not dead or gone at all."

Bull stared at her. "She was here?"

Melora laughed, but it was not a happy sound, and it trailed off into a groan as she dragged her hands down her face, shaking her head miserably. "No. I went to the Fade, again."

"... Shit," Bull said, the word heavy with the fullness of his understanding exactly how fucked up the Fade could be, and then he pushed his half-full tankard over to her. "Here. Down this."

She needed no further encouragement, and tipped it back, taking several deep gulps of the strong, bitter ale. She grimaced at the taste, preferring mead, but took a final swig and swiped at her mouth with the side of her thumb. "Thanks," she said, and then she laughed again to herself in disbelief at all of this. "And, you know, that isn't even the strangest part. It turns out… Mythal is Morrigan's mother."

"You're serious?" Bull asked.

"No, I'm just making all this shit up for fun. Of course I'm serious."

"No, yeah, of course, I just mean… Wait, did she know? I mean, we went through the whole damn temple and she wanted the Well and…"

Melora shook her head. "She said she didn't, and I think she was sincere."

"Damn. Morrigan's mom's a god. She's gonna be even more snooty now, I guess?" Bull said with a smirk.

"Probably not. They didn't appear to be on good terms."

Bull blew out a somewhat baffled breath between his lips and said, "So, uh… that whole 'bound to Mythal' thing, how's that going for you, then?"

Melora laughed sadly, shaking her head. "I don't know. She didn't seem to have any desire to control me. I… I think she liked me? In any case, she said she can help me. That the voices of the Well will teach me."

"Teach you what?" Bull asked.

"I don't know that, either. She didn't say, and they're being… cryptic."

"Man, I still can't believe you looked at a big puddle of old elf piss or just went 'right, bottoms up!'" Krem snickered from his perch atop his chair. "Actually, y'know, on second thought, that's exactly the kind of thing I'd expect from the Chief's girlfriend. You look all cute and normal, but deep down you're really all 'hold my ale and watch this' aren't you?"

Bull chuckled and laid a hand across Melora's shoulders, rubbing at the back of her neck with his thumb. She knew it was for effect, keeping up appearances, just the right gesture under the circumstances. But she still found it comforting, looking up at him with a grateful smile.

"Alright, boss. You can tell me all about what it was like meeting Mythal, but first, let's get you another drink and… you hungry?" he asked, and she nodded. "Something to eat, too, then. Hey, Krem, the kitchen's slammed, can you…?"

Krem laughed, hopping down from the back of his chair with a clank of armor. "Yeah, sure, Dad, I can see Mom's had a rough day."

Bull rolled his eye and tossed one of the little roasted nuts with perfect precision, hitting Krem right in the middle of his forehead. Krem caught it as it fell, popped it in his mouth, and crunched on it as he went off toward the tavern's kitchen.

Drawing a trembling breath, Melora stared down at her hand, at the light of her mark shining there. In her mind, all she could hear was the silence when she had been alone in the Fade, the deafening absence of the Maker's answering voice. 

His palm still on her back, Bull looked down at her and asked, "You, uh, really look like you need a hug," he said.

Melora made a tiny whimpering noise and nodded emphatically. Everything was _so_ strange, and it just kept getting weirder and more complicated. And she was right in the middle of all of it, somehow.

Bull pulled her in close, wrapping those strong, solid arms around her in a tight hug. Oh, Maker, he gave the best hugs, so much of him that it was like being engulfed in his embrace. She put an arm around his waist and pressed her face to his chest as he rested his chin on top of her head and just held her there until slowly, she was able to stop shaking. Where ever things stood between them now, whatever their complications, Bull still gave the best damn hugs.

"You know," Melora said after a minute, "None of that is even the strangest part."

"No?" Bull asked, his voice a low rumble she could feel through his chest.

She laughed sadly, shifting in his embrace, her ear against his skin, and she could hear the low drum of his heartbeat. "Morrigan's son had the soul of the archdemon of the Fifth Blight. He carried it within him since before he was born. It's why she had him in the first place, to capture the archdemon's soul. A little boy, walking around with an Old God in him. Right under our noses, until his grandmother, a goddess of the ancient elves, took it away."

"Now you really are shitting me," Bull said, laughing as he patted her back.

"... I'm really not."

His hand stopped, and he sat back just enough to look down at her, blinking before he squeezed her tighter. "Huh. That's, uh... Damn. We're gonna need a lot more drinks, aren't we?"

Melora nodded and closed her eyes, breathing a long and weary sigh.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it took so long to post this! I hope you'll understand once you've read it why I wanted to get it right. Further updates will (I hope) be much more frequent.
> 
> And if you like this story, please let me know! :) Nothing encourages me to keep working more than knowing folks are reading and enjoying my nonsense. <3

It was desperation that brought the Inquisitor to Emprise du Lion. She had taken the power of the Well of Sorrows, and Mythal herself had promised aid, but the voices of the Well offered no advice. They told her only that she would know how to defeat her enemy when the time came. It was an answer that gave little reassurance, her further questions met with silence.

Much of the enemy's fighting force had been in the Arbor Wilds, but the Inquisition had killed or captured those that had not fled. With their general in an Inquisition prison cell, the Red Templars had lost most of their power. But the Inquisition had received word from a Baron in Orlais about strange red crystals appearing in the highland fields of the Emprise du Lion, and sightings of Red Templars in the quarry nearby the tiny village of Sahrnia. They had nothing else to go on, so they had come here for lack of any better options. Perhaps they might find clues as to the whereabouts of Corypheus… not that it would do them any good, with no way to kill him.

Facing unseasonable cold, the steep landscape of rocks and trees was blanketed in a thick cloak of ice and snow, making already treacherous mountain roads nearly impassable. Inquisition scouts and troops sent ahead had gained a foothold there but little more, clearing roads and repairing bridges, but unable to make much progress in holding the rest of the area. That was left to the Inquisitor and her companions, who fought through the cold, spilling blood upon snow already littered with crystals of red lyrium. When they weren't facing Red Templars twisted with corruption, the dense forests here teemed with wildlife, and though many of the creatures were harmless, their abundance meant dangerous predators like bears and wolves.

They found the quarry, and the villagers who had been forced into the mining operation there. The Templars had kept the terrified townspeople in cages when they weren't forced to hack raw red lyrium out of the icy ground. Those who hadn't frozen to death in the wretchedly harsh conditions were sick and dying, crimson jewels studding their skin and staining the whites of their eyes.

After the Inquisition retook the quarry from the Red Templars, Melora, Varric, Bull, and Cassandra spent the several days helping to transport the injured back to the village before returning to find plenty of information on the mining operation, but little to point the way to Corypheus. The work was exhausting both physically and emotionally, carrying supplies and people up and down rickety scaffolding, covered head to toe to try to keep out the red lyrium dust, sweating with the hard climbing and then chilled by the biting winds. Families crowded around the quarry and in groups in the middle of the ruins of Sahrnia, weeping as the grieved their lost loved ones and tried to comfort those who would soon die a terrible, painful death.

It almost came as a relief for the four of them to leave behind that misery and turn back to bloodying their blades, fighting yet more Red Templars to take Suledin Keep. But even when they were done, having defeated the demon that was the cause of the red lyrium growth here, there was little cause for celebration. The red lyrium did not dissipate, the land here tainted by what had befallen it, perhaps forever. The cold did not lift, and though they had taken the last stronghold of the Templars loyal to Corypheus, there were still groups scattered through the rest of the remote, wind-swept mountains. With most of the Inquisition presence in the area devoted to helping the civilians and rebuilding the infrastructure so much-needed food, supplies, and medicine could be brought in, it fell to the Inquisitor to deal with the remaining Red Templars, seeking them out in the confusing tangle of game paths, logging trails, and tracks leading through thick blackberry canes.

The snow was piled high, and their spirits were low. Ever since they'd gotten here, the proximity to so much red lyrium had given Melora a crushing headache, making her ears ring and her vision strange, and Varric went sullen just at the sight of the stuff. So when they weren't fighting, they often trudged along through the deep snow for hours, looking for signs of Templar stragglers and barely speaking. Melora kept her knitting stowed, too cold to take off her gloves so she could work the stitches. The only sounds they made were the creak of their armor, the crunch of their boots in the snow, and an occasional cough, and…

_Snf. Snf. Snnffffff. Snnnnuurrrrrrrrk..._

Varric broke the silence with a series of sniffles and snorts, grimacing before he spat off into the snow. "Gyuuugh," Varric said, swiping at his nose with his handkerchief, but then he looked down into the wadded cloth and made a face before stuffing the handkerchief away in his pocket. He asked, "Anyone got a clean handkerchief? Mine's, uh…. all used up."

"You took my last clean one yesterday," Cassandra replied without looking back at him.

"What, you're too good to use your sleeve?" Bull asked.

Varric grimaced. "That's disgusting."

"Hey, better on your sleeve than your face, right?"

"Eughh." Varric shook his head, sniffling again. "I know we're out in the frozen wilderness, but that's no reason to abandon all attempts at civilization."

"Handkerchiefs are civilization?" Bull asked over his shoulder.

Varric sniffed yet again. "Yes! Handkerchiefs and teapots and beds that don't have rocks in them. Maybe they don't have those things in the Qun?"

"Nah, we sleep on the ground, drink the blood of our enemies, and if we've got a runny nose, we get somebody to punch us in the face so it just looks like a bloody nose instead," answered Bull, his tone deadpan.

Varric stopped in his tracks, causing Melora to nearly run into him, and inhaled deeply, giving a deep and burbling _snuurrrrrrrrkk._ Melora threw her hands into the air as Varric sniffed a few more times, and then between every few breaths or so as he said, "Well, as soon as we get someplace halfway comfortable, I'm getting a mug of tea as big as my head, putting my feet up, and falling asleep warmed by a fire that I don't have to worry about tending. Ugh, this snow is _literally_ up to my ass. Look at this, I'm cheek deep here. And I think my pants are soaked through with snowmelt, so it's run into my boots. It's gonna take all night for that to dry out, assuming we can even get back to a camp or find enough dry wood to make a fire--"

His continued going on about it only made Melora's right eye twitch harder, and between that, and the headache that seemed to bore into her skull, Melora could stand no more. She clenched both hands and burst out, "Gaaahhh! Enough! Yes! It's terrible! It's snowy, and cold, and it's miserable and awful, but we're all feeling the same cold, and you're not the only one ass deep in the snow right now. I'm sorry it's shitty, but it's shitty for all of us, and you're the only one complaining about it. If you want to go back to camp, go! Nobody's stopping you!"

The words seemed to echo in the sudden silence. Melora stood there, chest heaving, breathing hard through her nose. All three of the others turned to stare at her.

Varric opened his mouth, blinking, jaw working but for once, at a loss for words. "I-- uh-- wh--"

Melora pressed her lips together and shook her head emphatically. "Shit, no, I'm sorry, I--" She sighed, jamming her hand in the pocket of her coat, and pulled out her last clean handkerchief. She held it out to Varric, dropping her eyes to her feet as she stammered, "Here, take mine. I didn't mean any of that. I'm sorry. Fuck. I--"

She pressed the heels of her hands to her closed eyelids, groaning. "I'm gonna-- just… I need a minute…" Then Melora turned around and walked quickly away, back the way they'd came, back around a bend in the path into a denser spot in the woods. 

Her face burned with fading anger and rising embarrassment. She left the path, lifting her knees high over the fallen snow, heading to a spot where the ground was almost bare, sheltered by a thick stand of trees.

One reedy sapling stood alone in the center of the clearing, and she went and stood against it, feeling it bend with the pressure of her back. The bark was cold and rough on the back of her head, and let out a long, slow breath. Her heart was still racing, and she threw her head back against the tree with a _clonk,_ trying to knock some sense into herself. but it served only to make her head pound even harder.

A chunk of snow on a branch above jarred loose with the vibration through the tree, and fell onto Melora's forehead. Gasping at the sudden cold, wet chill, she spluttered, wiping it off, and gave a deep sigh. Slowly, her pulse slowed, and she let her shoulders slump. 

Around her, the trees creaked like old bones, and from somewhere far off came the hammering rattle of a woodpecker, yet it all seemed muffled somehow, everything buried beneath a thick shroud of snow. She looked up, the pale grey clouds somewhere high above fractured into shards by the tangle of bare branches and pine boughs raking the sky. She stood by herself in these cursed and tainted woods, and truly, she felt alone. Of course, she never really was, the voices of the Well always there, always listening. And still not helping her a damn bit.

Melora hung her head and tried to swallow back the tears that burned her eyes. Dammit, she didn't have time to fall apart. Not now… 

Footsteps crunched behind her. She didn't have to turn to know who it was. She could feel him still.

Bull came over and stopped alongside her, glancing over to say, "I figured you you might wanna talk, but I can go if you want..."

Melora sniffed a little and shook her head. "No, stay," she said, her voice thick with the tears that now threatened to fall. "Is Varric pissed at me now?"

Bull glanced back behind him and shook his head, giving a little wave with one hand. "Nah, he's fine. I mean, the tone could've used a little work, but… You weren't _wrong."_

"No, I was. I shouldn't have… Of course he's complaining. This is all terrible. It's _still_ terrible. It's been a whole year of this shit. Did you know that?" She looked up at the sky, shaking her head, and then swiped at her eyes. "A year today, since the Conclave. And what do we have to show for it? We're all still out here fighting. Corypheus is still out there, somewhere. We still can't kill him, with no way to match the power of his stupid fake archdemon. And the only reason we even know _that_ much is because of the ancient elves whispering in my head. Except they don't tell me everything, and they're _terrible_ at answering questions, and I'm starting to get the feeling that they don't actually care what I do as long as I keep promising to find them some felandaris nectar liqueur."

She laughed sadly then at herself, rubbing at her forehead, trying to smooth away the tension there. "You know, I asked around about it, and nobody had heard of it except Solas. He said it took the work of a hundred people for a hundred days to collect enough nectar to make just one small bottle, and it hasn't been made since the fall of Arlathan. The voices then very helpfully reminded me that I'm very wealthy, and could easily pay a hundred people to work a hundred days to make me a single bottle of liqueur so that they could taste it again. I'm not sure if they're fucking with me this time or not."

Bull shrugged and said, "Well, I mean, technically, you _could…"_

Melora gave him a stern look. "No, I couldn't. I'd rather just give the money away than spending it on something so frivolous." She sighed heavily, closing her eyes and slumping against the tree. "All along, I've been thinking this was all temporary. That things would go back to… what, normal? Or that I'd die. And now it's a year, and… at what point does _this_ become normal? How many years is this supposed to take? How long am I supposed to ask everyone to keep fighting an enemy we can't kill? Everyone wants to know what to do next, like I'm supposed to know. And all I want is to sleep for a good week solid at least. But I can't. I have to keep going, every day, no matter what. So I do. But there is always another rift or demon or group of bandits, always another mile to walk, and I am _so_ tired."

Her voice broke at the end, and she covered her face with both hands, biting at the inside of her lip, focusing on the pain and trying to force back the tears. Somewhere in the woods, a wolf raised its voice in a howl, soon joined by others. There were always more wolves, too.

"You could take a break for a few days," Bull said. "I mean, you don't know your next steps anyway, so why not? Can't keep fighting if you burn yourself out."

"No, not until this is done. I still have _so_ much to do."

Bull crossed his arms and looked over at her. "Yeah… But you don't have to do it alone."

"Don't I?" she asked. "Everyone else could quit, go home, decide they'd had enough… except me. I'm in this till I'm done, or I die."

"Ah, come on," Bull said, his tone almost scolding. "You think Cassandra would give up before the end of all this? And Varric blames himself for half this shit in the first place, like it's his fault red lyrium exists. The way he looks at the stuff, it's like it's accusing him of something. Cullen barely even sleeps anymore, and, you told me what happened to Leliana when you did your whole future jump thing, all fucked up and tortured and she still kept fighting. We all know this is do or die. Nobody's giving up."

He sniffed a little, dragging his teeth over his lower lip before he added, "And I'm not either. I… I know that probably doesn't count for much, but as long as you're still fighting, so am I."

She looked over at Bull, remembering that terrible future with a shudder. It hadn't just been Leliana who had fought to the last. Melora could never shake how strange and unnatural it was, to have memories of his death, for it to have been real, really happened, and then unhappened. Bull still lived, and yet carried with him that willingness to give his life for this, if he had to.

Nodding slowly, Melora said, "It does count. It's not the same, having everyone expecting you to fix… everything. But… thank you."

Bull sighed, watching a nug scuffling through the undergrowth at the edge of the clearing. "I can only imagine what all this shit is like for you. Everything you've been through, all the crap you've had to learn so fast, and you never asked for any of this. All these people following you when you never wanted to lead, demons and Fade crap and kissing the asses of obnoxious Orlesian nobles. You basically expected to be in prison for life, and then… all this. And on top of it all, you go and get mixed up with me, and I had my head crammed so far up my ass, I couldn't see what really mattered."

Melora glanced aside at him, giving a tiny smirk. "With your horns, that sounds terribly painful, and probably physically impossible."

Bull laughed softly, nodding as he shrugged. "Yeah, probably. But it was getting it back out that hurt worse. And it hurt you, too. And I know I said it before but… I am so, _so_ sorry for making all this crap even harder than it already was. You're out here trying to save the whole fucking world and the last thing you needed was someone making it worse. Especially not someone you were… close to. And I'm still making it harder every day, just by being here, and having to..." He blew out a breath, making a vague gesture with one hand. _Having to pretend we're still together for the sake of this crap you don't want to be doing in the first place,_ was neatly implied in those trailing words and the movement of that hand.

"I asked you to be here, to stay. You did. I asked you to… do whatever it is we're doing, and you did. It's been almost a year of this for you, too. You've been dealing with the same shit I have. Bled and hurt and ached and seen… so many horrible things." She could not look directly at him, folding her arms across herself, a flash of those horrible thingsflickering through her mind: innumerable demons, the things they'd faced in the Fade, red crystals sprouting from the skin of a father who could no longer hug his children for fear of contaminating them, a cart with belongings scattered into the mud, and a tiny shoe that was not empty. He had been there to witness them because of her, because she'd hired him on, and then, because she asked him to stay. And he thought he was a _burden?_

She sighed, and said softly, "You hurt me, yes. But… you've also helped me, and taught me. You have shaped me, and I am… I _like_ the shape I am now. It's the one I need to be, to win. And through it all, you have saved my life more times than I can count. If it weren't for you, I _truly_ would not be who I am now because I'd be dead."

Melora looked down at her hands, picking a bit of fuzz from her gloves. She paused then, considering her words carefully. This was more talking about _them_ than they'd done since just after everything had gone wrong. And she knew that things were… complicated. But what they had to do here, all they'd been through… it _was_ shitty. And Bull was very wrong about one thing. 

"Bull, I'm _glad_ you're here," she said finally, the words slow and deliberate, testing the meaning of each in her mind as she would the sharpness of a blade, afraid of cutting herself as much as him by saying the wrong thing. "You don't make every day harder at all. You make every day _possible_ by making sure I'm around to see it _._ And… more than that, you make it easier too. You look out for me, and protect me, see strategies and options I'd never have come up with myself. And you still come up with the best puns."

Bull chuckled softly. "Y'know, you're one of the few people who laughs at them without groaning first."

"Well," she said, eyes glinting as she glanced over at him, "With so much at steak, a good pun is a rare medium well done."

It took him two or three blinks before his face split into a wide smile. "Damn, that was _beautiful._ I think I'm gonna cry."

"I learned from the master," Melora replied with a smirk. In truth, she'd learned that particular one from a three-bit Orlesian joke book she'd found in a hedge, and had been saving it for the right moment. Her expression faded into a sad little smile and she scuffed her toe in the snow, clearing a little space in the leaf litter at the bottom of the tree. "I _like_ having you around. This may sound a little strange, but… even though this has been kind of awkward and weird, it's almost become sort of… comfortable, too, in a way."

"Yeah," Bull said, frowning as he nodded, and said no more on the subject. 

Comfortable… Sometimes, it very literally was. Since Adamant, he'd slept beside her whether they were on the road or not, though they had both resolutely not spoken of it. This morning she'd woken curled up to his back, her face pressed to his bare skin, one arm thrown over his waist, and she'd wriggled down further under the wool blanket covering them, enjoying his warmth and closeness. Even though everyone kept their trousers on, there was still an intimacy between them that she could not deny. Maybe it was _too_ intimate, and she should have been keeping him at arm's reach rather than pulling him closer. Maybe she should have been trying harder to harden her heart.

But maybe she wanted just one thing that she didn't have to struggle through, and holding onto her anger had been so much harder than letting it go. A year of fighting, and he had always been the brightest part of it. Even since that terrible day on top of the wall at Skyhold, he'd still been the best part of this. And it had been killing her to keep pushing him away.

Was this forgiveness, or was it foolishness? It felt not like blind hope, but hope with open eyes. 

She looked over at Bull, at his silvery skin and dark horns, and the grey wool cloak he wore. Against this bleak landscape of bare trees and snow, she realized that the only colour in her view was the slight flush of his cheeks in the cold, and the green of his eye. Maker, he was breathtaking.

Melora tried so often not to look at him that when she finally did, she was unable to tear her gaze away. How strange and wonderful he had seemed when she first saw him on that rocky beach, and though she no longer feared him, she had never stopped being awestruck by him. If anything, it had only intensified her fascination, to learn of his keen wit and ridiculous sense of humour. She had mapped the patterns of his scars like constellations, both those written in the firmament of his flesh and those that existed only in the heavens of his mind, and she had marveled at the light of his complex cosmology. 

Her heart felt like a stone in her chest, cold and heavy and sharp-edged, and she bit at that spot inside her lip, tasting a bright, salty flash of blood. All she wanted was to lay down this anger and rest in the comfort of his embrace without feeling confused and conflicted.

But long as she remained Inquisitor, her duty rendered her desires irrelevant… but neither was she fool enough to deny what he meant to her.

Melora licked at her lips, chapped and chilled, and said, "You are still my best friend, you know."

Bull nodded, slowly and thoughtfully thumbing the sharp point of his dragon's tooth beneath the edge of his cloak. "Yeah. Yeah, I know... Uh. Look, maybe I shouldn't be asking this, but I've kind of gotten the feeling lately… Uh, I mean… Do you think that maybe, I dunno, once all this is over, there might be a chance we could--"

Whatever he said after that, Melora could not hear, the words covered entirely by the sound of a deafening, animal scream from overhead, echoing off the jagged, mountainous landscape around them. They both looked up to the sound.

High above the treetops, a high dragon beat its wings against the sky and screamed again before passing out of view. And then a moment later, a second followed it, calling to the first one with a an echoing cry that raised the hair at the back of Melora's neck.

Melora and Bull looked at each other in stunned silence. Then Bull's face split into a dazzling grin, and threw back his head and laughed delightedly. "Ohh, you take me to the _best_ places, boss!" He craned his neck to the sky when one of the dragons screeched again.

Melora laughed softly at him, flicking her eyes up to the sky, but then she looked back to Bull. He nearly danced with excitement, trying to see the dragons past the trees. "You do recall I took you to the Fade once, right?" she asked.

Bull made a face and shrugged. "Alright, you take me to the best and worst places. But hey, it's never short on entertainment."

"Maybe we should…" Melora said, glancing back the way they'd came.

"Yeah," Bull agreed, and they both made their way quickly to rejoin Cassandra and Varric up on the road. Bull tore his eye away from the sky only to glance ahead and make sure he didn't run into a tree, glancing this way and that, trying to catch a glimpse of one of the dragons, and Melora chased after him, wanting to ask what he'd been about to say… but now wasn't the time.

"Did you see?" Bull yelled the moment Cassandra and Varric came into view.

"See what?" Varric called back with a shrug and a laugh.

The view of the sky was somewhat more open here, on higher ground and the area around the roads clear of trees, and high in the sky to the east, the dragons looped and dove after one another, as agile in the sky as birds, but huge, even from this distance. And they seemed to be flying just for the pleasure of it, chasing after and calling to each other in the misty afternoon air.

Bull turned to look down at Melora, and she didn't need to look up to know he was still grinning ear-to-ear. 

"They seem like they're staying mostly to the east? Away from Sahrnia, I think?" Melora observed. "Maybe they--"

But almost as soon as she'd said it, one of the dragons turned toward the west, flying so low over the trees above that they could hear the rhythmic _whump-whump_ of its wings, gusts of wind stirring the snow around them. It dipped as it went out of sight, and for a moment, there was an eerie stillness. And then, a roar, different than the cry of the dragon, and with a whoosh, the dragon passed overhead once more, heading back toward the east.

In its jaws, the dragon carried a fully grown live bear. 

The bear still struggled, trying to claw at the dragon's snout, but the dragon clamped down harder. The bear roared, and its cries echoed across the hills, fading as the dragon grew further and further away. 

When they could no longer see it past the trees, there was a moment of silence before Bull and shouted, "It had a whole bear! That is the most bad-ass…!" He trailed off into delighted laughter, and then pumped his fists into the air, whooping and cheering. 

"I'd _almost_ feel bad for the bear if they didn't try to eat us at least twice weekly," Varric said.

"The dragons are hunting in the west," Cassandra said, hand on the pommel of her sword.

"Too close to the village," Melora agreed. 

Bull slooooowly leaned in, grinning delightedly, knowing what that meant, his grin growing exaggeratedly wider and wider as he nudged Melora with his elbow.

"Ah, come on, you aren't already freezing your asses off, you wanna get them chewed off by a dragon, too?" Varric groaned. "Do we have to?"

Melora snickered at Bull and gave him a shove, then looked up at the sky, shaking her head. "If it was just one, if it was staying away from people… But two high dragons will have a lot larger hunting ground than just one, and it had to have gotten that bear from pretty close to the village. It's only a matter of time before they start having run-ins with the people there."

"So we're gonna fight it?" Bull asked excitedly.

Melora looked up at him and smiled. "No, we're going to fight both of them."

"Not at once!" Varric took a step back, aghast.

"Maker, I hope not," Melora laughed. "These seem surprisingly social, but they're not going to share the kill. We wait until the other's landed, and this one's eating and distracted, or done and full and sleepy. We kill it, and take down the other one later."

"Oh, yeah, sure, let's just kill two dragons, why not? How do you know they won't just team up against us and we'll be a light snack after a supper of fresh bear?" Varric asked.

"I've been reading up on dragons. They might fly around a bit together, but that's all high dragons will do socially and it might well be more 'look what I can do so you'd better not mess with me' than for fun. They're rivals for territory, and they don't share prey," she explained. 

At first, she had been trying to research the corrupted dragon they had assumed was an archdemon. But as her fascination grew, she'd devoured any information she could find on them… their anatomy, habits, breeds, behavior. She had even acquired some rare texts from the University of Orlais, a special favour from Celene herself; it was handy, having saved the life of the Empress. The bookshelves in Melora's tower room at Skyhold had swelled to bursting with volumes delivered from across Thedas. Once one noble had heard the Inquisitor had special interest in books on dragons, it had become a common gift. She had received four copies of _'The Lusty Dragonian Maid',_ which seemed to have very little to do with actual dragons, but had nonetheless been entertaining, especially when Bull discovered the book was just a bunch of dirty puns.

The three of them watched the sky for a minute before Melora took a deep breath, and said, "Varric, I'm sorry for what I said before. I know this is all terrible, and I should be more appreciative. You don't have to be here… but you are, and it means a lot. All of you."

"Eh, don't worry about it, Stabby," Varric said, smiling. "I do whine too much. Besides, I wouldn't be here if I didn't believe in what you're doing… if I didn't believe in you. Well, that, and Cassandra made me come."

Already chortling, Bull started, "I'll bet she d--" But Cassandra's swiftly-thrown elbow into his side cut him off, and he _oof_ ed, still laughing even as he winced and said, "Are we all gonna stand around hugging, or are we gonna go fight some dragons?"

Varric heaved a dramatic sigh and shrugged. "Dragons, I guess."

The four of them made their way further down the road, and all the while, the other dragon looped overhead, seemingly uninterested in hunting, the sun glinting off its scales. 

They barely slowed through the Inquisition camp at the Tower of Bone, and Melora cast her eyes up at the strange chained tower, studded with spines of red lyrium. The wind here seemed to carry with it a strange, dissonant music, like many violins being tortured somewhere in the distance, barely audible beneath the creak of those huge chains laden with icicles. 

Her head throbbed, little spots of light dancing in her vision, and she hurried ahead, eager to get away from the red lyrium. The others seemed less affected… but they weren't mages. None of those in the camp here were mages, the positions here filled only by volunteers, and they were rotated out frequently; proximity to red lyrium could be deadly, but these strategic camps defended the red lyrium critical to the Templars' efforts, keeping it from their enemy. The risk was worth it for the Inquisition, but Melora was sure that whatever the Inquisition was paying these people to be here, it was not nearly enough.

As she started toward the bridge, Melora felt a trickle of warmth beneath her nose. She brought her fingers up to touch at it and saw blood there. With no handkerchief, she pressed the back of her hand to her nose, trying to hide the blood from the Inquisition soldiers. These gloves had seen worse than a nosebleed, and at least the wool was absorbent. Varric still had her handkerchief, and she wasn't about to ask for it back now after she'd snapped at him.

Through the gate past the camp stood Judicael's Crossing, a great stone bridge built on the foundations of an old Imperium highway, spanning the huge chasm through which the frozen Elfsblood River flowed beneath a thick layer of ice. Here, the wind whistled past the bridge, stirring twisting currents of snow in the air. Melora squinted against the bright glare off the pale stone bridge. Her guts twisted at the sight of the chasm.

When they stepped from solid ground onto the bridge, Bull said nothing. He just offered his hand to Melora without a word.

Melora looked over at his waiting palm. He hadn't even glanced down at her. He knew of her fear, and didn't judge or smirk… just offered his silent support, knowing that he could not take her fear away, but he could be there, and make her feel better.

She slipped her hand into his, and Bull's thick, warm fingers closed around hers, and she felt that squeeze as much in her chest as her hand. 

He was always here by her side, constant and steadfast, trying to be what she needed. Even what he had done… Perhaps she had needed that as well, to learn, to become harder and sharper. It had transformed him as well, broken him from the grip of the Qun to choose his own path. And it seemed the path he had chosen ran parallel to her own. His huge footsteps left a trail next to her own much smaller ones in the snow on the bridge.

Melora sucked in cold air through her nose, trying to still the fear in the pit of her stomach. She kept trying to tell herself it was irrational, that this bridge was perfectly safe, restored by the best stonemasons in all of Orlais under the Inquisition's supervision. But with every gust of wind, her knees wobbled and she remembered the sickening feeling of solid stone falling away from beneath her feet at Adamant. Bull squeezed her fingers a little tighter, his thumb rubbing at the back of her hand. Now and then, she pressed the back of her other hand to her nose, sniffing back blood.

The shadow of the dragon swept past them on the bridge ahead, and they all four looked up to see the dragon pass over them. It hauled itself into the air with great pulls of its wings, higher and higher over them, until it hung impossibly high in the sky, its huge form a dark speck against the blue. And then suddenly, it turned, tucked its wings against its body and plummeted back toward the ground at incredible speed… directly at the bridge below.

They were already halfway across, too far to run to either side, and the dragon was coming so fast, on a clear collision course. Melora clutched at Bull's arm, and he squeezed her fingers so tightly her bones ached. They had no time to run. 

And at the last moment, the dragon threw its wings open with a _whumph_. Its descent slowed abruptly just before the bridge, and then it snapped its wings back against its sides. 

The dragon slipped neatly through the narrow space between two of the bridge's arches, directly beneath the bridge surface under their feet.

As soon as it was clear, the dragon beat its wings again and dragged itself into the sky once more, calling out with an ear-splitting screech that sounded like pure _triumph._

In the silence that followed, Bull's laughter bubbled up from within him and he pumped a fist into the air, yelling after the dragon, "THAT! WAS! MAGNIFICENT!"

"I thought it was gonna--" Varric spluttered.

"As did I," Cassandra agreed, a tremble in her voice. "Did it even notice that we are here?"

Melora watched as the dragon rolled and twisted high above. "I don't think it saw us," she said without taking her eyes from the sky. But she had a strange feeling that perhaps it had… or at least, that it had seen _her._

"Yeah, well," Varric said, "If it _does_ notice us, about the worst place we could be is on this damn bridge."

Cassandra nodded. "That… is an excellent point. We should get to the other side… quickly."

Bull glanced down at Melora and gave a little flick of his horns. She grabbed onto one and hopped up onto his back, and he took off at a jog over the icy stone, making quickly for the other side of the bridge. Cassandra kept up easily… but with his much shorter strides, Varric lagged behind, huffing and swearing under his breath. Bull noticed… and rather than slow, he just stooped mid-stride, catching Varric around the middle. Bull scooped Varric up under his arm and kept running.

"Asshole! Put me down!" Varric yelled, just trying not to drop his crossbow.

"You wanna get eaten by a dragon?" Bull asked, catching up with Cassandra again. "Predators usually eat the slow ones first."

They reached the end of the bridge and kept running, racing up the cracked steps toward one of the Pools of the Sun, this one known as Etienne's Ring. They ducked beneath an archway, out of the dragon's view… 

But the dragon still ignored them, circling lazily over the canyons.

Melora let go of Bull's horn, and hopped neatly onto the ground next to him. Bull set Varric back on his feet, and Varric promptly delivered a swift kick to one of Bull's shins. "You want to pick me up, you at least buy me a drink first!" Varric snapped.

All three of them turned at the sound of Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomina Get-on-with-it Pentaghast… _giggling._ She covered her lips with her fingers and turned away, shaking her head, waving a hand at them, but it only served to make her laugh harder, and she gestured at Varric, snorting, managing to say, "I didn't have to buy you a drink first."

Melora cackled, leaning against Bull, who joined in too, laughter shaking his body against Melora's side.

Varric just looked up at Cassandra, watching her with a slowly spreading grin. He reached up to slide a palm along her jaw, swiping the pad of his thumb along her cheek, her skin there flushed from the cold and the run. His voice got soft as he said, "Yeah, well, you're a lot better looking than he is. Damn, you're beautiful, Seeker."

Cassandra reddened further, glancing at Melora and Bull, and Varric laughed. "What? They know already. About us, and they'd agree that you're beautiful, too."

"I'd have gone with hot, but sure, that too," said Bull with a nod.

"Or 'radiant' maybe?" said Melora, straightening up.

"Oh, shut up." Cassandra rolled her eyes, but it was with a self-conscious little smile, tucking an errant bit of hair behind her ear, and Varric stretched up to kiss her.

Melora looked away to give them some privacy, back up to the sky. It was good that they were happy. Maker knows Varric and Cassandra both deserved it. 

But all Melora could think about was what she had lost, and she looked over at Bull with a lump in her throat.

He was was watching the sky too, his eye glittering with excitement. Bull got positively _bouncy_ whenever it came to dragons, and this... two of them, and the dragon flying beneath the bridge… He nearly vibrated with delight, and when he looked down at Melora, the smile he gave her was _dazzling,_ like clouds parting to reveal the sun. A realization spread over her as she returned that smile. 

She had never lost Bull. He'd never stopped being there with her through all of this. He was still here, now, so close she could reach out and touch him.

And so she did, laying her palm at the small of his back, stepping closer to him to peer up at the sky alongside him. Bull looked down at her with the slightest curious quirk to his eyebrow, and Melora just smiled up at him. Outside, it was quiet, and the sky was clear. The other dragon must have landed.

Bull draped an arm around her, and she looked at his hand resting there, relaxed upon her shoulder. Melora looked at her hand where it lay against the cloak he wore, and she could feel the hard edges of his armor beneath. Beneath her palm, her mark gleamed dull green against the heathered wool cloak.

Yes, he was here, and she could reach out and touch him… but she knew better. What she wanted, her personal desires… that didn't matter, _couldn't_ matter with all that she faced. Her duty as Inquisitor had to come first. She could forgive him… but she could not let her feelings for him cloud her judgement.

She took her hand away, stuffing her hands beneath her arms as she crossed them, and she hunched her shoulders, covering the shake of her breath with a cough.

"So, up for a dragon fight?" she asked, forcing herself to smile.

Bull gave a rolling laugh and clapped her on the back, squeezing her shoulder and hugging her to his side. "Oh, fuck yeah!" And despite the way her eyes stung, Melora's smile went from forced to genuine. His joy at this was infectious.

Melora turned back to Varric and Cassandra. "Ready to do this?" she asked them.

Cassandra gave a nod, but Varric looked doubtful. He heaved a sigh and readied his crossbow. "Fine, yeah, I guess," he grumbled. "But if I get eaten, I'm gonna be pissed."

With Bull at the lead, they made their way up the staircase that spiraled around the crumbling structure. The outer wall was a curve of arches, each framing a magnificent view of the surrounding landscape. This place had a harsh, wild sort of beauty. But this wasn't the time for sightseeing.

Melora glanced at Bull, thinking if she should ask him for the little vial of blood he kept in his pocket. But immediately she heard a whispering chuckle, as if the thought were ridiculous, and the ever-present ancient elves murmured to her, 

"Ir val ghalis lin allinan." There is much fresher blood above.

She gave a small, breathy laugh at the suggestion. True, it couldn't get much fresher than still in the dragon… Melora did not even whisper the words, her mouth forming them without sound. "Is this not blood magic?" she asked them.

"Erislin? Vannas, en rethil. Mar darmanen tel bellarhis dinsanen enfanim unaren mi'disan ghan shasis." Blood magic? Yes. Of a sort. But you should not fear all tools because a knife can cut.

That was… one way of looking at it. Melora still wasn't sure about this whole blood magic thing, but so much of what she'd learned in the Circle had been lies. And if it attracted demons, what of it? She knew how to deal with demons already.

As they got closer to the top of Etienne's Ring, they could hear the sound of the dragon consuming its prey, bones being broken with a crack and a crunch, a splash here and there, and footsteps so heavy they were more felt through the structure than heard. With the greatest of care, they all laid down their packs and removed their coats and cloaks layered on top of their armor. 

Bull still led the way, creeping slowly up the stairs, and Melora caught up with him, putting a hand on his arm.

"Let me go up first," she whispered, looking at the stairs ahead, lit with bright sunlight.

Bull made a shrugging gesture. _Why?_

"To see where it is." Melora flicked her eyes up to Bull's horns. "You stick up more. I'm less likely to be noticed."

He nodded, but stayed close, crouching behind her as she climbed the last few steps into the open air. Melora kept her head down, coming up only enough to take a peek.

The top of the structure consisted of a wide shallow pool, bubbling and steaming, smelling strongly of sulfur. Scattered here and there, the bleached bones of the dragon's many kills studded the pool like teeth. In the shadow of a once-grand stone structure where Orlesian nobles had been served fancy food and drink while taking the waters, the dragon hunched over the bear it had just killed, tearing out chunks of flesh, its short, flat muzzle stained in blood. It was turned away from her, focused on its meal, and she watched it for a moment, fascinated as it swung its spiked tail side to side, its scales gleaming the blue-white of glacial ice. Now and then, it would stamp its back legs where they rested in the water, shaking from them the crystals of ice that slowly formed in the water whereever the dragon touched.

Melora ducked back down, looking to the others. "It's a hivernal. An ice dragon. It's busy eating," she whispered, far too quiet to be heard by the dragon over the rush of the wind here. "About fifty paces. There's a big pool, some rocks, dry around the edges, but we're going to get wet."

Bull snickered, and she punched his arm, but lightly, to make no sound. "Wet, and _cold,"_ Melora added, though it was with a smirk.

"So, the plan is?" Varric asked, mouthing the words as quietly as he could.

"It's standing in the water," Melora whispered. "I can stun it. Go left, around, try to stay dry. Then we bleed it, weaken it, we get out of the water, and I'll hit it again. Repeat until it's dead. Stay clear of the water till the sparks have stopped. Something goes wrong, we get back down here."

Cassandra gave a nod, then slipped her blade from its sheath and raised her shield. "Maker guide us."

"And Andraste protect us," Melora added. 

Then, her daggers in hand, she crept back up to the top of the stairs, placing each step with the utmost of care. She was sure she was completely silent, yet the moment she stood fully upright, the dragon snorted with unease and lifted its head from the carcass, shreds of meat dangling from those deadly teeth. Had it smelled her? Its nostrils flared and it sniffed the air… but the wind was blowing the wrong direction.

Melora froze there at the top of the stairs, watching the dragon as it slowly turned its eyes toward her. Its breath clouded the air as it lifted that huge, blocky head and fixed her in its sights.

It saw her. The edge of the dragon's lip curled in a snarl, and it started to lift one clawed foreleg, turning toward her.

Melora gathered her power and drew a sigil in the air before her with the tip of her left dagger, feeding it with more mana and letting it shine brighter. The sigil hung glowing and crackling there, and when it had reached its full charge, she leveled both blades at the surface of the water directly beneath the dragon's legs, sending all the gathered energy into the steaming pool. 

The spell exploded with a snap like a whip, sparks branching across the surface of the water. Lightning crackled over the dragon's scales, and its limbs jerked erratically. It screeched and tried to flap its wings, but its muscles spasmed out of its control, and it crashed over sideways, sending up a great spray of water with a flap of one wing.

Varric, Cassandra, and Bull were ready and running the moment Melora let the spell fly. Varric took up a good spot on top of the rocks next to the stairs while Cassandra charged ahead around the edge of the pool, careful to avoid the water while the lightning still sparked. 

Bull followed, and as he crested the stairs, he dipped his head to one side. Jamming her daggers back into her belt, Melora caught hold of his horn when he swept past her, letting his momentum swing her up onto his back. She knelt there on his shoulders, feeling the surge of him beneath her, cold air bracing against her face.

By the time Bull rounded the pond to the other side, the sparks from the spell had ceased. Varric's crossbow _twang_ ed from behind them, and the dragon whirled on him, opening its blood-smeared jaws to screeched at Varric, its breath a harsh and chill wind. 

Varric rolled back behind the rocks, ice crystals shattering around him and raining into his hair. "I don't want to alarm anybody," he yelled, the words bouncing with a laugh, "But I think this dragon might be trying to kill us!"

With the dragon focused on Varric, Cassandra and Bull took their chance, rushing in from the side, splashing into the steaming water. Melora let go of Bull's horn, hopping off onto a smooth stone at the water's edge, arms wheeling a moment as she caught her balance.

Bull whirled, swinging his huge great-axe with a shout, and buried the blade deep within the dragon's back leg. Roaring, the dragon pulled away, and Bull staggered back, yanking the axe free. Cassandra edged around, looking for an opening as the dragon turned on the three of them.

The dragon eyed them and hissed, its breath needle-sharp with crystalline ice. Then as they watched, it reared up onto its hind legs, towering over them. Cassandra drew back out of the water, jamming the blade of her shield in the frozen ground, her stance defensive.

Bull gazed up at the dragon in awe, his grin delighted. Melora lunged for him, grabbing him by the belt and pulling him back. It made him stumble, jarring him back into the moment just as the dragon began to beat its wings.

Those huge wings gathered great, buffeting gusts of air, sending up great swirls of snow and ice. Bull and Melora ran for cover behind the small stone structure. Melora dove behind one of the pavilion's stone pillars, trying to shield her eyes from the frozen debris.

The wind died down, and Melora looked up to see a big grey hand extended to help her up. 

She slipped her hand into Bull's, and he hauled her to her feet. In his other hand, Bull still held his axe, one of its double blades slicked with the dragon's blood.

Melora took hold of Bull's other hand, pulling the weapon to her into the space between them. She could see her reflection in the polished dawnstone, and in the dark blood that dripped into the snow, staining it crimson. Here was the fresher blood the voices of the Well had promised, potent and powerful. 

As Bull watched, Melora ran the flat of her tongue up the blade, filling her mouth with icy blood.

The chill spilled down her throat and into her belly, different than before, ice this time rather than fire. It wound its way through her, crystallizing within her bones, writing itself into the song of her blood. And as it settled inside her, she felt it twist and change, not extinguishing but fueling that spark that already burned within her. These kinds of magic were not enemies of one another, but aspects of a single kind, and within her, they found an equilibrium, a duality dwelling within her veins.

As if from far away, she heard Bull's voice say, "That was too much."

But he was wrong. Melora would go to whatever lengths necessary to win this fight, and the next one, to win every fight.

Her eyes fluttered closed and she put out a hand to steady herself, holding onto Bull's arm. Before, it had been only drop by drop, never a mouthful. This was more than she'd ever had before combined. The intensity of it took hold of her, and Melora swayed, tipping her head back to laugh softly at the sky.

Bull seized her shoulder with his empty hand, squeezing painfully, and brought his lips close to her ear. "Kill now," he growled to her. "Enjoy it later."

Melora's eyes flicked open, the pain bringing her back into focus. She could feel him, and she realized then, she could feel the _dragon_ now, too.

She yanked Bull down by the strap of his harness and yelled, "Duck!"

He did, and half a second later, the top of the pavilion beside them exploded outward, stone blocks hurtling through the air where Bull's head had just been, pelting the both of them with bits of stone, followed by the dragon's whipping tail.

Blinking in a shower of dust, Bull said, "Thanks, boss."

As the dust cleared and the two of them hunched behind the remains of the stone structure, she looked up into Bull's face, those familiar contours, the pattern of his scars, the curve of his lips. That twist there at the corner, laughing at how close they'd come to dying just then. The gleam in his eye and the shine of sweat upon his skin, the rush of the fight in him. Maybe it was the blood. Maybe it was just that she knew him, but she knew there was nowhere in the world he'd rather be than here, fighting this great beast with her.

If she was to burn, she would not do it alone.

"Wield me," she said, flashing him a grin, a challenge in the quirk of her eyebrow. From the other side of the pavilion, the dragon still raged, and they could hear the sound of the crossbow firing and Cassandra's shouts.

Bull barely paused, thinking fast, and said, "Lightning's just pissing it off. Try fire. Go for the wings." Then he glanced up and gave a flick of his horns.

Melora grabbed hold of his horn and swung up onto his back. He shouldered her easily, as if she weighed nothing at all, and she said, "To the right! We can flank." She didn't need to see the dragon to know where it was.

But again, the moment they rose out from behind cover, the dragon turned toward them, training its gaze on Melora. It knew she was there, just as surely as she knew exactly where it was. She stared into its eyes as it stared into hers, and just a moment, there was silence. 

Melora kept her daggers sheathed, and instead lifted her bare hands, tugging at the threads of the Veil. She did needed no focus for this. This was fire, and it was as innate to her as breath. And when the dragon opened its mouth and roared a mighty ball of ice at her and Bull, she was ready with an answering barrage of flame. She let it burst forth from her palms in a fan of bright, searing heat, and the dragon's ice evaporated before the rest of the fire exploded in the dragon's face.

The dragon reared back, splashing in the mineral pool, and Bull rushed forward, each footfall landing with a _splosh_. The shallow water slowed him only slightly.

The dragon lowered its head, giving an icy snort. It lifted one leg, creeping toward them as if they were prey. And to this great beast, they were, smaller to it than a mouse was to a cat.

"Ready…" Bull shouted as he quickly approached the dragon. Melora shifted there on his back, making sure she had her footing right. "And…. NOW!"

He skidded to a stop, spraying a fan of water before him. At the same time, Melora leapt from his shoulders, springing right onto the dragon's neck.

She seized the edge of the dragon's scales, holding on tight. The dragon stomped and bucked, trying to shake her off, but she held fast, digging in her heels in the groove between two scales. It thrashed and roared, twisting back and trying to snap at her. But she was just out of its reach, clinging to the base of its neck just forward of its wings. She needed to turn around to get to the dragon's wings, but the creature was trying so hard to dislodge her, it was all she could do just to hold on. 

The dragon could not shake her. And so, it leapt into the air, pulling hard with its wings, a sinister growl rumbling its throat.

Melora gasped as the ground beneath dropped away, and within seconds, the dragon had climbed high into the air, twisting and writhing, still trying to throw her off. She could only see the landscape as a far away blur, the cold wind tearing at her armor and stinging her cheeks, making her eyes water and hazing her vision. She hooked her fingertips hard beneath the dragon's scales, trying desperately to keep her grip as the dragon reached the zenith of its ascent. 

She was holding onto a dragon with her bare hands as it flew over the mountainous cliffs of Emprise du Lion. Death seemed a certainty. So as the dragon tipped back toward the ground, Melora raised her head, feeling the intense chill searing her skin, the wind whipping through her armor and chilling the sweat there. Her eyes watered, but she blinked away those cold tears, to try to catch a glimpse of the harsh beauty of this place. She might as well at least enjoy the view. 

And it truly _was_ magnificent, crisp afternoon sunlight glimmering off the icy peaks of the high mountains and the snow-frosted pine forests below. She could see all three Pools of the Sun, the ancient mineral baths steaming great plumes of mist. She could see, too, the very tiny three figures of Cassandra, Bull, and Varric standing atop the southernmost of those pools. From this distance, they were but specks on the edges of the pool, Bull the largest of the specks with a glitter of pink off his axe. 

Maker, how she wished Bull could experience this too, to feel the incredible rush of it. The air roared past her ears, and as the dragon turned and circled back around, she lifted her face to the sky and gave a wordless, exhilarated shout, hearing her own voice echoing off the icy canyons. If she were to die, let it be this glorious!

Suddenly, the dragon tucked its wings close to its body and dove. At blinding speed, they accelerated back toward Etienne's Ring, and Melora could do nothing but cling to the raging beast, pressing her face to one hard, chill scale as the ground rushed up beneath them.

At the last moment, the dragon threw its wings open, catching a gust of wind and slowing their descent before tipping to the side and circling Etienne's Ring.

Melora could see her friends below clearly now, their baffled faces gazing up at her. A chill crackled around the dragon's skin, and she realized the dragon was drawing a deep breath, preparing to use its cold breath against them. 

She locked her heels against the sharp ridges of the dragon's scales and pulled a dagger from her belt and jammed the blade between two scales in the side of the dragon's neck, just as it began to exhale.

The dragon jerked, and the ball of blue-white ice flew wide, flying not at Melora's friends, but instead splintering a pine tree near the pavilion. Snarling and twisting, the dragon tucked its wings again and came to land at the edge of the pool once more with a _boom._

Melora's teeth clacked together with the impact, and she very nearly lost her grip, but then the dragon lowered its head to hiss at the other three. With the dragon's body steady for a moment, Melora seized the chance and scrambled to turn around, charging the dagger's focus. She felt felt the flame within her rise, the Veil rippling around her. There was no sigil needed for this; the fire was already hers, and when she plunged the dagger into the thick knot of muscle at the base of the dragon's wing, she threw the spell through the blade. White-hot light engulfed the dagger, and she wrenched it between the joint, feeling it drag against bone. She yanked it free.

The dragon screeched and bucked, its wounded wing dragging through the water below, hanging useless at its side. 

Melora quickly extinguished the spell and tucked the dagger away, the blade smoking and sizzling in the damp leather sheath at her belt, and she leapt off, tumbling in a roll across the wet, snowy rocks at the water's edge. 

With her finally off its back, the dragon lunged for her, and Melora scrambled away, feeling the chill of its breath, its snarl terrifyingly close behind her. Legs pumping, she raced as fast as she could toward the stairs, knowing she could get away down there if she had to.

"Boss, _down!"_ she heard Bull shout from somewhere off to her left. Mid-run, Melora threw herself to the ground, landing flat in the calf-deep water at the side of the pool, bruising her knees on the rocks. A huge blast of the dragon's freezing breath roared overhead and shattered into a hail of ice that rained down on her back. 

Bull charged in, swinging his axe with a shout and catching it in the side of the head. It reared back, staggered, as Cassandra rushed in from the side, her armor still gleaming bright and glorious, and her sword and Varric's crossbow kept the dragon occupied. 

Melora pushed herself up and Bull glanced back at her. "Was flying on that thing as awesome as it looked?" he asked, his face illuminated with an enormous grin.

 _"Taarsidath-an halsaam,_ " she replied, dusting herself off and smirking up at him. 

Bull threw his head back and laughed. "Hah!"

With the dragon no longer able to fly, it chased after them instead, pursuing Cassandra as she dashed around the edge of the pool. Despite the weight of her armor and shield, she moved with incredible speed, evading the dragon's snapping jaws as it lumbered after her, dragging its injured wing behind.

Melora charged both daggers and threw a fast fireball across the water and into the dragon's side. Screeching, it turned its attention to Melora and Cassandra ducked for cover, flashing Varric a grin as she dove behind a boulder at the water's edge to catch her breath.

The dragon advanced on her, and Melora got ready to run, pooling her mana and readying another spell. At her side, Bull adjusted his grip on his axe, and Melora glanced over at him, blood rushing in her veins, her heart singing with the excitement of this. She could feel the glow of him, a flame of his own burning brightly there beside her.

She conjured another ball of flame, and another, pelting the dragon with spells, slowing its advance but not stopping it. 

On the rocks near the stairs, Varric still filled the beast's hide with crossbow bolts, and Cassandra stood at the water's edge on the other side, clanging the pommel of her sword against her shield to try to get the dragon's attention. Snarling with rage, the dragon turned back and coughed a great billowing plume of ice directly at Cassandra. 

Cassandra turned her shoulder, bracing behind her great tower shield, holding her ground even as the ice exploded against her shield. Her eyelashes were coated in frost, but she weathered the blast. 

But Cassandra's distraction had given Bull time to get into position, and he whirled with his axe, sinking it deep in the meat of the dragon's back leg. The dragon bellowed and jerked forward, pulling Bull and his axe along with it, snarling and trying to kick him away. Blood poured from the wound, blooming crimson in the water.

Bull yanked the axe free and dodged back just out of reach. His attack had given Melora a chance to charge an even greater fire spell, and it exploded against the dragon's other wing, shredding it to tatters.

Each of them in turn attacked and withdrew, distracting the raging dragon whenever it found a target, working together in perfect harmony. Melora could almost hear the music, a rhythm in the _thwack_ of Varric's bolts finding their mark, the clash of metal armor and blades, the creature's roaring breath, and the burst of percussive flame. The same music was within her, and Melora let it take hold of her, unthinking. With every blink, in the darkness behind her eyelids, she could see the dragon and Bull as distinct points of light, and a pull like subtle wind on her skin gave her a constant awareness of the both of them. 

Again and again she burned the dragon, stoking the flame within her until it burst forth in consuming fire, and soon, the dragon's icy blue-white scales were stained black with soot and shining red with its blood. It was weakening, slowing, no longer lunging so often to attack, turning in a circle and hissing. Two of its legs were injured, its wing a dead weight. Its death was coming soon, and it seemed to know it.

It eyed Melora, giving a low, guttural snarl, stalking slowly toward her, limping as it did.

Melora stood her ground, drawing deep on her pool of mana. She was weakening, too, but the flame sustained her, and she poured it into the focuses in her daggers, pulling together a powerful spell. And when the dragon opened its mouth to screech its anger at her, Melora screamed back, the sound ending in delighted laughter as she threw out both hands and flung a massive ball of directly into the dragon's throat.

The dragon reared back, stumbling on its injured back leg, and fell to one side, thrashing and roaring, trying to right itself. Melora dashed toward it, readying another spell. Another fireball or two and this fight would be won. She raced along the water's edge, each footfall sending up a splash, trying to get to the dragon's side or underbelly. If she could get close enough to cast _into_ it, this would be all over.

Victory was within sight, and she knew just what she had to do. Indeed, victory filled her view so greatly, she did not see or feel the dragon's tail coming, whipping through the air behind her. It hit her flat across the back mid-stride.

Melora went flying. The wind knocked out of her and her daggers lost, she hit the rocks at the side of the pool and bounced, tumbling, hip then shoulder meeting unyielding rock. There was a blur of snow and a flash of blue sky overhead. 

And then she fell off the top of Etienne's Ring.

She grabbed for something, _anything_ , fingers skipping off icy stone… and caught, slipping as she came to a sudden stop, but holding fast. She swung her other arm up to grab for the same handhold. It was edge of one of the arches circling the lower levels of the structure. Melora hung there, looking into the face of a statue of Andraste standing in the arch, fingers slipping on the narrow, angled edge to which she clung.

Looking down, there was nothing below her except mist, and far below, the rocky, frozen Elfsblood River. She had fallen not on the side facing the road, but instead had been flung toward the cliffside upon which the structure was perched. There was nothing between her and a very long fall except that thin arch of stone.

Melora could barely hold on. There were no handholds to climb up, nothing below she could reach or drop onto, the statue too far forward to hope to jump to. All she could do was hold on, and try not to look down. So she stared into the face of the statue, Andraste's weathered stone face placid and calm.

She felt her fingers slip another bit.

Up above she heard a clatter, rocks sliding, and she yelled, "H-help me!"

The clatter increased, a shower of snow falling light upon her cheeks as she looked up to see Bull above her, a broad silhouette crowned by horns leaning out over the edge. He saw her and heaved a sigh of relief. "Hang on!" Bull called to her.

"Great idea, I'll try that!" she yelled back.

He crouched at the edge and reached down to her… but it was too far. He laid down flat and tried that way, but she was still just out of reach.

Bull slid forward a little more, stretching his shoulder as far as he could, straining with a groan, fingertips grasping so close, brushing the wall just above where she hung… but it wasn't close enough.

Melora looked up at him, and she saw a fear in his face like she'd never seen before.

Her fingers were cramping. She couldn't hold on much longer.

"Bull…" she said, looking up into his wide, terrified eye.

"No," he growled, wriggling a little more forward, trying again, clawing at the stone wall above the arch. "I'm gonna pull you up, I just-- I'll--" Bull lifted his head, looking around, trying to find something to use, to throw down to her. But there was nothing handy, nothing fast enough. He hit his fist against the wall in frustration, looking down at her helplessly.

He twisted back, yelling, "Cassandra! Get over here!"

But Cassandra was still fighting the dragon, its roars still thunderous even as it was weakening. There was no way Cassandra would get there in time.

This was it, then. There was no way out of this, these her last moments. She blinked blurry tears from her eyes.

Melora wanted to say something, to tell him… something. But what could she say? She wanted to apologize for failing, knowing that her end meant the end of everything, that she wouldn't be here to see the horrors that would inevitably play out. She wanted to thank him, for being here for her through all of this, for making it so much more bearable, even if they'd lost in the end. She wanted to beg him not to blame himself, that this wasn't his fault, he did all he could. And she wanted so desperately to tell him what he meant to her.

But there wasn't time for all of it. There wasn't time for any of it now. She'd spent those precious seconds overthinking it.

Her hands were quaking with the effort of holding on, an agony through her wrists and forearms. She couldn't hold on.

Her fingers slipped.

She fell.

Above her, Bull cried out, and lunged for her.

His hand closed around her wrist, wrenching her elbow and shoulder… but he had her.

Bull strained with all his might, his other arm twisted back, clinging to the top of the stone wall. But he was hanging over the edge almost to his waist. He dug the toes of his boots into the ground, trying to keep himself steady… but he was far over-balance with her dangling below, weighted down with waterlogged armor. There was no way he could hold on like this.

And if he held on, they'd both die.

Bull looked over his shoulder, shouting again, "CASSANDRAAAAA! VARRIC! A LITTLE HELP?!" 

As strong as he was, he couldn't stop them from slipping, inching ever forward. His grip on her was slipping, too, everything damp and slick from soggy fight. Without her hanging below, he might be able to pull himself back up.

"Let go," she said softly.

"Never," Bull growled through gritted teeth, groaning as he struggled to slow their inevitable slide.

Melora gave a sorrowful laugh. "You don't have to--"

"Yes, I do _,"_ Bull said, and then he turned his strained grimace into a smile. "Besides, not like I had anything planned for tomorrow."

She choked back a sob. "Bull, I--"

Over the top of the ridge, Cassandra appeared, and when she saw Bull hanging there over the edge, she dropped her sword and shield, clambering down the rocks. Varric followed a moment later. "Oh, shit!" he cried, hopping down to the side of the wall as fast as he could, slipping on the ice and swearing to himself.

Cassandra grabbed hold of one of Bull's legs, digging in her heels. Varric scrambled up behind her and took hold of his other leg, stopping him from sliding. But he was still hanging with most of his weight over the edge, and Melora's weight too. It was all Varric and Cassandra could do to keep them from slipping further. 

"Pull, Seeker!" Varric shouted.

"I'm trying!" Cassandra snapped.

"On three!" yelled Varric. "One… Two… THREE!"

Both of them pulled back with all their might, and Bull gave a shout, clenching his hand tight around Melora's wrist, his shoulder wrenched back and straining, fingertips just barely gripping the edge of the wall.

Bull slid back a foot or so, and a pained gasp escaped Melora's lips, her wrist and shoulder taking her full weight, and Bull's crushing grip the only thing keeping her from falling.

"Again!" Varric said, and on three, Varric and Cassandra pulled once more, dragging Bull back from the edge, enough that he was no longer hanging off-balance. They let go of his legs, and with a grunt, Bull hauled Melora up, pulling her back up over the edge of the wall. Her already-scuffed knees scraped raw again on the stone as she scrambled up onto blessedly solid ground once more.

Bull sat back to catch his breath, and Melora slumped against him. He put an arm around her shoulders, but then lifted her face to look her over. "You got hit pretty hard. You alright?"

Her back hurt, her arms felt all but useless, and her shoulder ached. And she would have some impressive bruises from her tumble off the edge. But she was back on solid ground, safe, alive. They both were. They all were. "Yeah," Melora said, looking up at him with a soft smile. "I think I am." _Thanks to you._

It was quiet above, and Melora glanced up at the ridge. "The dragon?" she asked.

"Dying," Cassandra said. "I hope."

"We should probably make sure…" Varric suggested.

Cassandra gave a nod and the two of them hurried back up the ridge, leaving Bull and Melora near the cliff's edge. Bull got back to his feet, pulling Melora up with him. He looped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close for a brief but fierce hug. Her arms sore, she just leaned against him before looking up and saying softly, "Bull--"

He shook his head and gave her a little squeeze before taking a step back. "Let's see about that dragon, huh?"

She nodded, and they climbed back up to the top of Etienne's Ring together.

There, in the center of the bloodstained pool, the hivernal dragon lay on its side, one ruined wing draped over it like a tattered shroud. Its head rested upon the ground, one ice-blue eye looking up at the sky. Its chest still heaved, but slowly, its breath ragged. 

Varric handed Melora her daggers, retrieved from where they'd fallen, and the four of them approached the dragon with caution, weapons drawn.

But all the fight had gone out of it. Even when they edged closer, the dragon's eye turned toward them and it did little more than snort a puff of pink-tinged ice crystals from its bloodied nostrils. Her awareness of it had dimmed, too. It no longer burned so brightly, now just embers quickly fading to ash.

They looked at one another, and all eyes turned to Melora. She had delivered the killing blow to the dragon they had fought before. And she was technically in charge.

But she flicked her gaze up to Bull, and said to him, "This one's yours."

Bull's nod was almost solemn. He walked over slowly, still cautious, and placed his palm upon the dragon's scales. He breathed a sigh of wonder and awe, and said softly, _"Ataash katar, tic-ataashi. Taashath-ost, asala esaam kost."_

The dragon gave a shuddering groan like a snore, and Bull took a step back. He lifted his axe, and brought it down upon the dragon's neck with a wet _crunch._

In the silence that followed, the four of them glanced at one another. They were all soaked to the skin, dirty and bloodied, scraped and bruised. But they were, all of them, alive and well. And they'd just brought down another dragon.

Melora was the first to crack a smile, glancing to each of them in turn. "Well," she said, trying to shrug and her shoulders protesting at the motion. "I think that pretty well."

"You nearly died," Varric scoffed, checking to see how many bolts he had left.

"I think I nearly die more often than I get a hot bath these days," Melora replied, smirking. "But it's not every day I get to kill a dragon."

"Hey, _I_ got to kill the dragon," Bull corrected.

"I believe you had a _bit_ of help," Cassandra said, wiping down the blade of her sword. Though they had not given the death blow, Cassandra's sword and Varric's crossbow had delivered the grave wounds that gave Bull time to save Melora.

Bull looked to Cassandra and gave a nod, looking to Varric, too. "Yeah, more than a bit. Thank you. You guys saved my ass."

"And mine too," Melora said. "Not just my ass, but the rest of me, too."

Cassandra rolled her eyes, though a smile played at the corner of her mouth. "You would have done the same. We all protect each other when we can."

It was true. The four of them together had worked beautifully in the fight, and despite her arms feeling like soggy noodles, Melora reached out and threw an arm around Varric's shoulders, yanking him with her to loop the other arm clumsily around Cassandra. Varric laughed and Cassandra gave an awkward, slightly baffled grunt.

Melora lifted her hand from Varric's back, waving Bull over too, and he chuckled, throwing his arms around the three of them. For a moment, even Cassandra was laughing too, all of them just glad to have made it through that fight. Still smiling, Melora looked up at Bull and held his gaze, profoundly grateful to be alive, that they all were still alive. If it wasn't for him, if he hadn't risked his life, she'd have been a smear on the rocks below the cliffside right now. He was always there, always with her no matter what they faced, even death or demons. He was as constant as the sunrise… more so, as she could never be sure she would see the next sunrise, but she was absolutely certain that if tomorrow came, Bull would be there to watch the dawn with her.

It had been a year since the Conclave, a whole year of fighting… yet it felt as though time were suddenly very short. 

Melora's smile faded, and Bull held her gaze, his own expression clouded, a crease between his brows and a question in his eye. But then it passed, and he put back on a grin, looking pleased with everything and squeezing Varric and Cassandra's shoulders. But behind his eye, she could still see those churning thoughts. She didn't look away, and neither did he. The moment hung between them like their breath fogging the air.

It seemed they were not the only ones affected by this narrow victory, for even after Bull released them all, Varric still hugged Cassandra to his side.

Together, the four of them took a last look at the dead dragon, and headed back toward the stairs, to where their packs were waiting for them. 

"We should let the Inquisition camp know of the kill," Cassandra said at the bottom of the stairs, shouldering her heavy pack easily. "They can come butcher the carcass."

Melora nodded, looking out of one of the arches, back across the bridge toward the encampment. The sun had started going down, reaching the top of the mountains to the west past the bridge, its fading light golden turning to rust. The other dragon had taken to the sky again, its silhouette inky against the setting sun to the west, and Bull stepped up beside her, watching the other dragon, too.

She looked up at Bull standing there beside her, his skin glowing bronze and gold in the fading sunlight, streaked with dark smears of blood like black garnet. The ache that rose in her chest hit her so hard she could scarcely breathe, to see him this way, scuffed and weary, blood soaked and sweaty, victorious, and _alive._ Maker, he was so beautiful. He smiled down at her, and leaned over to loop an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him, though he was mindful of her sore back.

"Can you…" Melora glanced at Cassandra and Varric. "Can you two go on ahead? We'll catch up."

Varric and Cassandra exchanged a look. "Yeah, sure," Varric said, lifting the strap of his own pack and heaving it onto his back with an _uff_. "We'll meet you back at Suledin Keep. We'll let 'em know you're coming."

The two of them turned to go. Cassandra cast a brief, curious look back, but kept going, and they made their way down the next set of stairs winding around the stone structure. 

Melora listened to their fading footsteps, and then Cassandra and Varric emerged on the path below, heading toward Judicael's Crossing, shadows cast long against the snow.

The wind blew chill upon her cheeks as she watched the sunset through the archway, but close at Bull's side, she did not feel the cold.

She turned to him but did not pull away, her body pressed to his, and she lay a hand upon his chest. She flicked her tongue across her lips, trying to figure out how to put this to words.

When she had hung from that archway, seconds from death, there had been so many things she wanted to say to him, but there hadn't been time. Now, she had him alone and they were both safe… But the words still caught at the back of her throat, heavy on her tongue. 

Bull lifted his hand from his side and brushed her hair back from her face, his calloused fingers rough upon her skin. Melora could not help herself, and leaned into his touch, his palm warm upon her cheek, lingering there. Against her body, she felt Bull's breath hitch in response. For a moment, everything seemed very, very still. their mingled breath fogging the narrow slip of air between them, and in her veins, her blood still sang. It was the same song in him, calling to her.

Before she could overthink it, before she could talk herself out of it, Melora pulled him down to her. She slipped her other hand around the back of his neck, and kissed him fiercely, desperately, a clumsy crush of lips and teeth. Bull sucked in a ragged breath, stumbling against her, overwhelmed. She could feel him shaking against her, every muscle straining with the effort of holding back, even as he still clutched at her as if afraid she would pull away again.

She relented, but only just, kissing him softer, savouring the feel of his lips against hers, the rasp of his beard on her chin, the sharp edge of his teeth catching her tongue, and she dug her fingernails into the back of his neck, earning a low groan that rumbled through him, and through her. Oh, Maker, how she had missed this, missed _him._

Bull stooped and cupped her ass in those huge hands, lifting her off her feet to push her up against the statue in the archway. With the cold curve of Andraste's robes hard against her sore back, Melora wrapped her legs around Bull's hips. His mouth on hers was hungry and hot. The hard edges of his armor pinched her thighs, the broad expanse of him holding her there, but Melora only held onto him tighter, giving a soft whimper against his mouth.

She wanted him so very badly, needed him with an urgency that, once unleashed, she could not contain. She bit at his bottom lip once, hard, and tasted blood. Bull pressed his hips harder against her, his tongue rough upon hers.

His fervor seemed to slow, hands on her thighs going still, his shoulders drawing back. But Melora clinged to him, whimpering against his lips, and Bull groaned in answer, clutching her hips. Her hands dropped to his armor, fumbling at the straps on his side, trying to work them free of the buckles, desperate to feel his skin against hers.

But Bull gave a sudden, low, frustrated growl and tore himself away from her, letting her slide down to her feet before he stumbled a few steps back, trying to put distance between the two of them. His chest heaved, and he swiped the heel of his hand over his mouth. 

Melora looked up at him, confused, afraid she'd done something wrong, and she took a step toward him, but he put out a hand and shook his head, keeping away from her. 

Bull steadied his breath and clenched his jaw, steeling himself before he asked, "Are you sure you want to do this?" He pursed his lips, as if he were trying to hold back the words, but couldn't, and said, "Because if this is just--- just the rush of the fight and nearly dying, or if it's the blood… And if this is just for now, and tomorrow you're gonna be pissed at yourself, or me, or both and we're gonna go back to the awkward crap we've been doing, then… I-- I can't."

Melora stared at him, her heart still pounding, and blinked several times in confusion.

Nostrils flaring, Bull shook his head, swearing under his breath. "Don't get me wrong, I want to… I _really_ want to. But I can't do this if you're just looking for a good time and then we go back to this… thing… we've been doing… I can't be that for you."

Lips parted, Melora gazed up at him with a stricken expression. Is that what he thought she wanted? Just a quick fuck after all the excitement? She took a shaking breath and let it out again. Maker, of course that's what it looked like. They'd barely talked about anything between them. She'd slept every night since Adamant beside him, but they'd not said a word about it since that first night. And now she'd kissed him, and still, she had said nothing. Why wouldn't he assume this would be just one more thing they would never speak of?

"Come," she said, starting toward a wide stone bench against the inner wall. "Sit with me."

She lowered herself onto the lichen-encrusted stone, and waited as Bull hesitated, and then came over to sit beside her, leaving a space between them. 

He rested clenched fists on his thighs, glancing over at her but not meeting her gaze.

Melora flicked the tip of her tongue over her lips, and began very slowly, "You asked me if I was sure I wanted to... to go where that was leading, I guess." She paused, and Bull gave a small nod. 

Melora breathed deep and said, "I am unsure of a great many things. My entire life is made up of things I'm unsure of, really. I don't know if I'm Andraste's Herald, or just someone with very bad luck. I don't know if there is a Maker, or if all my faith is built on sand. I've got a mind full of elven whispers, and dragon fire flows in my veins, and I have no clear picture of what either of those things are doing to me. I don't have a clue how to defeat my enemy, or how to lead, or how I'm supposed to bring peace once I've stopped the world from falling apart. _If_ I can stop the world from falling apart, because… I'm not even sure I'm going to be alive to see another sunset."

As she spoke, she moved closer to Bull on the bench, and he did not pull away, shifting her legs beneath her, and she lifted her hands to his face, stroking them along his scarred cheeks. She looked into his eye and said, "I asked you to pretend that nothing had changed… but I don't think either of us were ever pretending anything. Everyone already believes you are my lover, and you are my Right Hand, and you are at my side through all of this… So I don't know what the point is of torturing ourselves like this. Because there is one thing that I am absolutely certain of… and that is that I love you, my Iron Bull."

She paused, a gleam in her eye, and tilted her head, adding, "Wait, two things, actually. That, and those candies you like really are super gross and I don't know how you can stand them."

A slow, slightly confused smile spread over Bull's mouth.

Melora _hmm_ ed, and said, "Make that three things, because I don't care what Cassandra says, the New Cumberland verses are _horribly_ awkward and awf--"

He stole the words from her lips with a sudden kiss, scooping her up into his lap. He cupped the back of her head with one hand, the other around her waist, and she felt him smile against her lips before he murmured to her, "I love you, too, _kadan."_


	39. Chapter 39

Melora woke slowly to the sound of voices nearby. The encampment at Suledin Keep stirred in the pale blue light of early morning, and though the Inquisitor's tent had been placed in an out-of-the-way corner, she could still hear the sounds of boots crunching in snow and sleepily muttered good mornings from outside the thin canvas walls. Melora lay still and listened, bird songs layering over the awakening camp in a lilting melody.

And beside her, Bull snored softly, his hand resting on her back beneath the woolen blanket.

The events of the day before came back to her in a rush… The dragon fight, and then after… It hadn't been a dream. She'd kissed him, and told him that she loved him. Chilled, filthy, sore and aching, they had made their way back to Suledin Keep, and neither of them had been able to stop smiling. They had each taken an offered bowl of soup and chunk of bread and eaten ravenously after the exertion of the fight, and they had eaten sitting on one of the low stone walls of the Keep, side by side. And when they had retired to her tent, Melora had been too tired to do anything more than lay with her head upon Bull's chest, his fingers stroking through her hair until she had fallen asleep.

Melora watched him as he slept, his mouth slack, head resting on his forearm and propped on the corner of one horn. She knew it would wake him, but she couldn't resist turning onto her side to stroke her palm over his shoulder.

Bull stirred, drawing a deep breath, and opened his eye to smile at her. "Hey," he said, hoarse with sleep. He rolled onto his side to face her and yawned against the back of his hand before letting it fall back onto her hip.

"Hey," she replied, resting her hand on the side of his neck, feeling his pulse throbbing beneath her touch.

He stifled another yawn. "So, uh. What's next?"

"Mmm… breakfast?" Melora said, smiling. 

"That's not what I meant," Bull said, his palm skimming over her hip. "Do we just… pick up from where we left off? Or… start over, or… I don't know how this is supposed to work. It was complicated before, but now…"

Melora shifted to her back, looking up at the tent above her, the dawn glowing through the fabric, and she gave a shrug. "I've never done this before either, so… I don't know. I don't think there's any 'supposed to' about it, though. We just… do this our way, however that is. I mean… outwardly, nothing really changes much, does it? We go along… much as we have been. Just without all the tension."

"What does that mean, exactly? Because I've been confused about where we stand for a while now and… don't get me wrong, I'm _real_ pleased with this. It's just…" He trailed off then, sighing. "I don't want to assume anything."

Melora thought long before saying slowly, "Maybe it's not that complicated. I mean… it _is._ Nothing in our lives is simple. But not really any _more_ complicated. We already spent much of our time together. We fight together, travel together. We share a tent, and a bed. We talk about our thoughts, and strategize, and we come up with stupid jokes to make each other laugh."

"Yeah," Bull said, but then he gestured to the two of them beneath the blankets, laying there pressed close. "But _this_ is not something we've been doing for a while, so…"

"Haven't we? Not exactly like this, of course. But… I was in love with you yesterday, and the day before. I have been for... a long time. And… I know you've felt the same for… at least as long. And I meant it when I said you're my best friend. So, what's really changed besides the average quantity of pants we'll be wearing around each other?"

Bull chuckled, but then made a low little noise. "That _can't_ be all there is to it. You did more than just… keep your pants on. You told me to quit giving you advice, that you didn't trust me, that you thought I might try to kill you. So, uh… I mean, I know you've asked for my opinion plenty since then, so I guess that's… not really a thing anymore, but the rest of it?"

Melora was quiet then, and after a few long moments, she shifted to sit up beside him. She didn't want to say this, but she needed to, and it wasn't the kind of thing she could do laying down. 

She leaned over Bull, pushing him onto his back, looking him in the eye in the dim light filtered through the tent. Very slowly and carefully, she said, "If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't be doing this. You've proven yourself time and again. But I know that if you wanted to hide something from me, you still could. I don't think you would, not anymore. But there is a part of you that will always be Hissrad, always able to lie with ease and skill. And I love that part of you, as I love all of you. You can use it for good, and you have been."

She paused, feeling the rush of the dragon's fire still smoldering within her, finding its home within her. Her teeth felt longer, sharper against her tongue as she tried to bite this back. Melora looked down at Bull, laying there watching her patiently, and her eyes drifted to the pulse of blood beneath his throat. She watched the steady beat of it there, and wondered if it tasted of fire too.

In a voice that felt not quite like her own, tendrils of smoke curling from the edge of her lips, Melora told him, "But if you ever lie to me again, or hide something from me, there will be no more chances for us. My trust in you can only be mended once. And if you ever lie or withhold information about something affecting Inquisition operations, or knowingly put members of the Inquisition, or the Inquisitor at risk again, then I will kill you myself."

Bull stared back at her with parted lips, flicking his tongue over them before giving a slight nod. "I, uh… Yeah, alright. That's fair. Understood… and more than a little aroused."

Melora sat back a fraction, spluttering, "What?"

"Hey, it's not my fault that you're _really_ hot when you get all authoritative like that." He grinned, as he added, "And your eyes are still glowing."

She huffed, glaring down at him. "I was _serious."_

"I know. That's why it was hot." Bull reached out to tuck her hair back behind her ear, looking up at her with pride. "Because I know you could. Not just that, it'd be _easy_ for you. Maybe not easy, uh, emotionally or whatever, but… capability, skill… Only way I could beat you in a fight is if I managed to take you down with the first hit. I wouldn't get in a second."

"Of course you've considered it," she said, a wry smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. "More than once, I'd bet. Probably quite often."

"Yeah. I know how I'd kill pretty much everyone. I mean, it's not anything personal. I'm not gonna _do_ it. But I like to have a plan, just in case. Most of 'em… it'd be easy. I'd win. But you… like I said, if I didn't get the jump on you, I'd be dead, and you wouldn't even have to break a sweat."

"The way you say that, you make it sound like you think it's a good thing." Melora shook her head, laughing softly. He was right, of course. If she truly wanted to, her magic would take him in an instant. 

"Well, _yeah…_ I'm not real used to be people being able to kick my ass. And that _really_ works for me, that you could. And it's not just my ass you can kick. You've bested demons… and a giant fucking super-demon thing. You rode on a dragon waaaay up into the sky, and lived. You've got an _army_ , and the blessing of some elven goddess. You're the most badass thing in this whole damn world… and you're here, with me. And then knowing all that, and you giving yourself up to me completely, letting me take you apart and put you back together… This deadly, dangerous thing letting me get close, bearing everything to me and letting me tie you down… Knowing you could end me so quick I'd be dead before I hit the ground, even as I make you come so hard you set the room on fire… Uh, I mean, before, at least. I dunno if you still want to do that, once we've had a good bath and found some privacy…"

Melora gave a quick, emphatic nod, but then she tilted her head and said, "Yes… but I get the feeling that… Well, I know you said no before, but I think, that maybe now you might want to try it the other way around sometime."

Bull chuckled, his grin showing sharp teeth. "Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I would. I mean, I don't know if you're gonna be able to tie knots tight enough to hold _me_ down, but…"

Laughing, Melora leaned against Bull's chest. "Who said anything about tying knots? Rope's _your_ thing. A thing I enjoy, but… I don't need rope." As she spoke, she idly trailed her fingertips over his skin. "I imagine you would be quite obedient, and if I told you to stay, you would. Because you know that if you _don't_ …" 

She let a quick, subtle flash of sparks flicker over her fingers as she stroked the line just under his collarbone. Bull jumped with the sudden sting of it, and gasped.

"... that I have my own ways of _making_ you stay," she said, smiling sweetly at him.

Bull sucked in a breath through his teeth and eyed her with a slowly-spreading grin.

Melora raised her chin, eyeing him before saying, "I want a new watchword. The old one is… wrong now. My new one is…" She thought for a moment before saying, _"'Vhenlellin.'"_

Bull's eyebrows twitched into a curious expression. "Which means…?"

"I don't know yet. But I know I'll never say it accidentally, which is what matters, right?" She traced a fingertip around one of his nipples, watching as it drew taut at her touch. "You should choose one as well, I think."

He laughed softly. "You think I'm going to need one?" That fingertip still circling, Melora gave the slightest hint of a cracking spark, a tingling buzz that made Bull suck a breath through his teeth. He eyed her with a smirk and said, "Uhh… hmm… how about… _salimaak._ "

"Which means?" she echoed.

"It's, uh, the qunari version of that salty candy I like."

Melora giggled, wrinkling her nose. "Ugh, mention _that_ nasty stuff in bed and the action will _definitely_ stop, watchword or not."

Bull grinned. "I guess I'll have to stop eating it when you might be kissing me, huh?"

Melora shrugged, drumming her fingers on his chest. "I guess you'll have to stop eating it entirely, because I plan on kissing you quite a lot."

"That so?" Bull lifted his head to brush a kiss over her lips.

"Mmhmm. I need to make up for lost time," she said, but then sighed softly through her nose. "I wasted so much of it being angry and upset, when all I wanted to do was…" Melora slipped her leg over his hips, straddling him beneath her, and kissed him soundly, stroking both hands over his cheeks to his jaw. 

Bull _hmm_ ed, running a hand back through her hair, and gave a little shake of his head. When she drew back, he said, "No, that time hasn't been wasted. Like you said, not like this really just started today. We may not have been, uh, doing, _all_ this, but that doesn't mean these past few months still haven't been… surprisingly good. Don't get me wrong… this, now… This is _really_ good. But I also really like just… listening to you sing the Chant, and talking to you about fighting techniques, and watching you kick ass. What we've been doing has been… alright, yeah, it's been awkward and weird and hard at times, but we've been saving the world, and beating the shit out of demons, and helping people. Some of that's been hard, too, but… shit, you won't even take a day off. You don't waste time. You _needed_ that time."

"Maybe you're right. I… I get the feeling, and I know how strange this will sound, that maybe this is… better somehow? Before it was good… amazing, really. But it was… It never could've been this, could it? It always would have been… False, in a way."

Bull went quiet then, but nodded a little. "Yeah."

"But now, it's… more honest. Not just in the literal sense. More intimate. And… again, not just in the literal sense. More than just today." She traced a finger down the bridge of his nose. "You said once that you didn't want me to love you for a lie, and that I didn't know you. You were right. I didn't. But you didn't know yourself either. I think you've figured it out, though. And I know you now. The real you. The true you, and the truth of you. I see you as you are. You're not on a pedestal in my mind anymore, but beside me."

Bull looked up at her, a smile upon his lips but a small crease between his brows, and he shook his head, that frown dissolving as he said, "Nowhere else I'd rather be… even if you did get to ride a dragon without me."

Melora laughed, stretching up to kiss at the side of his neck. "Yeah, well, I _did_ give you the kill to try to make up for it."

"Is _that_ why you let me kill it?" Bull chuckled, the words a pleasant hum in his throat beneath Melora's lips. 

She nipped at his earlobe, soft flesh held between her teeth before she nodded against his cheek and said, "Yes. I mean, we'd all fought a dragon before, we all could say we'd killed one, but I gave the killing blow then. I didn't know for sure whether it'd matter to you, killing it when you'd already fought it and it was downed, but I thought it might."

"Well," Bull said, tipping his head back and giving a groan as Melora bit his shoulder, "Mmmm, you were right. I mean, yeah, it's mostly about the fight and bringing it down, but… Getting to look in its eyes, to know that it saw me, that I was the last thing it saw and that _I_ was the one to end its life… Yeah. That was good. Real good. Damn, that was a _really_ great day. _Almost_ enough to make up for you riding that dragon without me."

Melora laughed, too loud so close to his ear, and buried her face against his shoulder. "I'm sorry! The next dragon I ride, I'll save you a seat."

"What was it like?" His voice got low and velvety, like he was asking her to describe some erotic fantasy. But, then, she supposed… To him, it almost was.

She giggled, kissing the hard line of his collarbone, her voice lilting with amusement at first, but then slowing, the words soft upon his ear. "Mm, well… mostly, it was windy and very cold. I could barely see. At first I could only just hold on, too scared to do anything else. But then… I remembered what you'd said, about, um, enjoying the parts you can. So I did. I looked out and saw… everything. The mountains and the river, the canyon… And the sky just seemed… endless. Like… the world seems big enough down on the ground when you're deep down in it, but up there, it's so much bigger even still, too much of it to even comprehend, and yet it's so beautiful…"

Bull was motionless beneath her, listening in rapt fascination as she spoke. But in her image of him in her mind's eye, and in the throb beneath his skin at his throat, she could feel the quickening of his pulse. Melora dipped her head and pressed her lips to the side of his neck, flicking the tip of her tongue against that place and tasting smoke. Bull gave a soft groan, shifting beneath her, and she grinned, continuing at little more than a whisper, punctuating the words with tiny kisses against his skin. "It was terrifying, but it also felt so free, to just… rise like that. One moment it was on the ground, and the next, it decided… Up, and up it went, as huge as it was, and I could feel the way it moved, how its wings clawed at the sky, like… climbing, or swimming, like the air was a palpable thing. And it moved so fast, with such power. And I could _feel_ it. The blood… its blood was in me, and its power flowed through me. I could feel its strength as it flew, and it was truly awesome. I wish you could feel what it was like to feel that kind of power as if it were your own, to--"

Melora stopped, frozen there over him, her hair draped over his shoulder. She stared unseeing ahead of her into the shadowed space between Bull's shoulder and horn, and the fine hairs dusting her skin stood on end.

_"Oh,"_ she whispered.

"What?" Bull said, turning to try to look at her, confused.

She sat straight up, taking a deep, gasping breath, covering her mouth with both hands, and looked down at him in the dim half-light of the tent. Her eyes gleamed and welled with tears of joy and relief, and she tipped her head back and laughed.

"Sahlin ar lethar ada ar nadas sesiris." Now you know what you must do.

"Oh, yes," Melora said, laughter bubbling up from her throat.

"What is it?" Bull asked, pushing himself up on his elbows, brow knit with concern.

Melora grinned at him, taking hold of his horns and pulling him to her to kiss him fiercely. Bull tangled a hand in her hair at the nape of her neck and pulled her back up, a silently demanded explanation. She resisted, ignoring the pain to nip at his bottom lip, and she whispered against his mouth, "I just figured it out."

"Figured out what?"

"How I'm going to win."

"Win what?"

The laughter still bubbled up from within her as she said, "Everything. Oh, you are going to _love_ it." 

She kissed him again, but briefly, and then scrambled up off of him, ignoring the protest of her sore and aching body. She grabbed Bull's harness from where it lay near the end of the tent and tossed it at him. It landed in a jangling heap on his chest. Bull sat up fully now, holding his harness and looking baffled. 

"Get up," Melora told him, shoving her feet into her boots, and she was still grinning as she said, "We need to find that other dragon."

Bull's puzzled face split into a wide smile, and he stuck his arm through the cuff of the harness, fastening its straps around him. "I still have no idea what's going on, but that's all you need to say. Let's go."


	40. Chapter 40

Leaving behind Emprise du Lion, the Inquisitor and her companions made their way out of the high, cold mountains and into the lowlands of the Dales, where snow gave way to green forests and fields. They made their camp with the forest at their back, within sight of a burbling stream. 

Away from the worst of the red lyrium, Melora's constant headache slowly faded to a dull throb until, on the third day of their travels back to Skyhold, she awoke with a clear head to find a bright and sunny morning awaiting her outside her tent. Snowdrops and crocuses nodded in the breeze, and the forest was full of birds greeting the day with an interwoven song.

Bull was already up for his early morning watch, and when Melora emerged from the tent, he gave her a smile and a cup of tea, and then hooked his thumb back toward the woods behind him. "Keep an eye out, alright? Fire's getting low and I want to cook up those eggs you found yesterday for breakfast, but I need to get more wood."

Melora cupped the hot tea between her hands. "Heh, sure," she said and smirked up at him through the steam. 

Bull chuckled, shaking his head, and leaned down to scuff a beard-scratchy kiss across her cheek, humming to himself as he headed off to collect firewood. Melora watched him go, sipping at her tea and smiling to herself as she recognized the tune, from the Canticle of Andraste. She settled down on a lichen-crusted flat stone near the fire pit, Bull's humming fading behind the songs of the birds in the breeze-rustled forest.

Off to the side, she heard a yawn, and Varric stepped out of the other tent, stretching his back and yawning again before ambling over to the fire. He gave Melora a sleepy wave of acknowledgement and then sat down on the grassy ground nearby, scratching at his side.

Melora said, "There's tea," nodding to the pot sitting close to the glowing coals in the firepit. 

"Thanks." Varric leaned over and poured himself a cup. He sat back again, and they both drank their tea in silence.

After a few minutes, as the haze began to clear from his eyes, Varric looked over at Melora and said, "Good to see you and Tiny aren't pissed at each other anymore."

Melora blinked slowly and then turned to look at him. "Sorry, what was that?"

"Or… whatever it was that was making you so sad," Varric clarified, giving a vague wave with his free hand.

Her face impassive, Melora looked back to the fading fire, the pale ash atop it stirring in the slight wind, making the embers grow brighter. She focused on one crumbling chunk of charred wood, watching as a little flame leapt up where none had been before. She took another sip of her tea, swallowed, and asked only, "What makes you think that?"

Varric laughed, shaking his head. "You want me to give away all my secrets?" When Melora said nothing in reply, Varric chuckled and shrugged. "Yeah, that was a dumb question, of course you do."

Varric took another few sips of his tea, a long and deliberate dramatic pause, and Melora looked down into her own cup, rolling her eyes at her steam-hazed reflection. "Well," he started finally, taking another sip just to make her wait some more, "You're actually pretty good at hiding stuff these days. I mean, you've been… a bit moody, but after everything, that's to be expected. But there's one place you don't hide anything, and if someone's paying attention, it's obvious."

Melora sighed, put on a smile, and asked, "Which is?"

"Your singing."

"My… singing," Melora repeated.

"Yeah. Your singing." Varric sat his cup aside and reached up to pull the tie from his hair to hold it in his teeth, messy from sleep and fuzzed around his face. He took a comb from his pocket of his leather coat and started working out the tangles, the fine hairs at the edges wavy. Despite her annoyance, Melora watched him from the corner of her eye, the slightest lift to her eyebrows, unable to resist an appreciative glance. He _did_ look especially interesting with his hair down. She imagined Cassandra saw him that way quite often… lucky woman.

Melora shifted slightly where she sat and took another sip of her tea. There were a few little spots of flame in the fire pit now.

 _Maker, she really needed to get laid._ Just another week or so and she'd be back in Skyhold, back to a comfortable bed, and privacy… 

In the back of her mind, she heard a whispered chorus of titters, and one faint, mocking whistle.

Varric pulled his hair back and tied it once more, tucking away his comb, and picked up his cup again. "You spent like three weeks a while back singing the Canticle of Trials in this sad, small voice. I mean, you'd do some other stuff for the chapel services, but you kept coming back to that one. Eventually, you started to branch out again, didn't sound quite so much like a lost kitten. But it's only been in the past several days that you've been really… I don't know… brighter, I guess? Like you're singing with your whole heart behind it. Ever since that dragon fight and then you and Bull hung back after. So I figure the two of you finally made up."

Melora looked over at Varric, studying him for a long moment before drinking the last dregs from her cup, making him wait just as he had made her. Slowly, she said, "An... interesting theory."

Varric chuckled, giving a wide shrug and then stifled another yawn with the back of his hand. "You've gone all quiet and creepy, and I'm feeling like maybe I shouldn't have said anything. It's none of my business, really, and--"

"Enough of your business that you brought it up, apparently," Melora said, cutting him off. She ran her finger around the rim of the empty cup in her lap. "If you noticed this so far back, why did you wait till now to say anything?"

"It was obvious that whatever it was, it wasn't exactly a fun time. Didn't seem right to pick at it."

"I see."

Varric sighed, waving a hand as if to dismiss the whole thing. "Forget I said anything."

To this, Melora said nothing, looking up idly at the sky above, brilliant blue above the trees. A minute passed.

Then Varric said, "Though… you know, I did find it a little curious the timing of the whole thing in the first place. Seemed like it was right about the time we did that thing with the ship that exploded."

Still Melora said nothing, not meeting Varric's gaze.

"That, and you both were acting like everything was fine when you clearly were not… It was almost like something happened that you didn't want anyone else to know about."

Melora gave a wry chuckle. "You mean something like the Ben-Hassrath posing as Tal-Vashoth becoming _actually_ Tal-Vashoth, and having a crisis of identity and self after? Can't think of why we'd want to keep that quiet. And then right after, without really having a chance to deal with it all, we all had that _great_ time in the Fade, facing the worst things we could imagine, which fucked us _all_ up."

"Yeah, y'know, I thought it was that at first, I mean, makes sense, right? But that didn't explain why you seemed so damn _sad._ "

"You've never been sad when someone you cared about was hurting?"

"Sure, of course, but that was concerned sad, supportive sad. Not soul-deep hopeless sad."

"So you know the depths of my soul because of… some songs I sang?"

Varric shrugged, shaking his head. "I didn't mean… I just… Ah, nevermind. Doesn't matter anyway. Obviously whatever happened can't have been that bad, because you two seem to have gotten over it."

Melora heaved a weary sigh and fixed him with a prolonged stare, eyeing him closely. She knew what he was doing, and she'd had enough of it. She said to him, "What are you after here, Varric? You ask me like a friend, but then you pick and pry. Is it because you care? Or because you're afraid?"

Varric stiffened up, but then a slow smile spread on his lips, and he laughed, looking up at the sky and the trees. "I'd be an idiot if I weren't afraid, what we're all facing. And of course I care, too. I just… I really hope you know what you're doing."

It was Melora's turn to laugh, rubbing at her face with both palms. "I don't. I truly don't, not at all, with anything. I am winging everything, and we're all doomed."

"Good to know! I guess I won't bother keeping up the payments on my summer house, then."

"Probably for the best," Melora said with a nod, and then she glanced at Varric from the corner of her eye, thinking before she said carefully, "If your asking is a matter of self-preservation, I understand. And if it's a matter of caring, I appreciate it. But you've no cause for concern. And if you trust me with the fate of the world, why can't you trust me with this?"

"If you'd be a little more forthright about your plans, maybe? You and Bull disappeared for two days just after we killed that dragon, leaving me and Cassandra back at Suledin Keep wondering what was going on. Then you wouldn't talk about why after, and just wanted to head right back to Skyhold. Obviously _something_ happened, but you won't talk about what, or why. You ask for trust, but you don't trust anyone else. Except maybe Bull."

"It's not that. It's… It's big, alright? I still don't know exactly how to make it work. There's research to be done, people I need to consult with, and… I don't want to talk anything up that I can't deliver."

"Not even to the people who are out here with you risking our lives every day?"

"Varric, you'll be among the first to be told all of the details, once I know them myself. You aren't being kept in the dark, and it's not a matter of not trusting you. It's… oh, you will understand, if this works, I hope."

"Guess I don't really have much choice, then, do I? You don't want to say, I just get to shut up and plod along through the mud." Though the words came with a sting, he delivered them with a shrug and a smile, almost cheerfully resigned to it.

Melora heard a crack of footsteps and the crunch of leaves from in the forest behind her. Bull was coming back with more wood for the fire.

"You always have a choice," Melora said, speaking quickly. "If you want to leave, I won't hold it against you. But you won't, because there's red lyrium wrapped up in so much of this, and you think it's your fault it exists. It's not. You didn't make it. You just discovered it. You can't absolve your guilt for something you're not responsible for by doing penance for a cause you're also not responsible for." She leaned over to refill Varric's cup of tea, and said softly to him, "Forgive yourself already. The world's on _my_ shoulders. Take it off of yours."

She filled her own cup, too, then retrieved an empty cup and filled it for Bull as he emerged from the forest.

Bull dropped the pile of collected branches near the fire pit and started feeding the embers small pieces, and then a few larger ones, till the flames licked higher. Melora gave a little twiddle of her finger toward the fire pit, helping the flames along. Bull brushed his hands off on the seat of his trousers, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and came to sit next to Melora, taking the cup she offered with a smile.

"Varric was just saying how he can't wait to get back to his summer house," Melora said, glancing to Varric with a pleasant smile. The colour had drained from Varric's cheeks, and he was staring at her with a crease between his brows.

"Summer house, huh? You just itching to eat little sandwiches cut into squares and show off your blindingly pale knees to the world?" Bull asked conversationally, though he must have seen the look on Varric's face.

"With all the biting bugs out here, I'm just plain itching," Varric replied, and then pushed himself to his feet, leaving the cup of tea behind. "I should see if Cassandra's ever gonna get up."

Bull nodded, sipping at his tea, the cup tiny in his huge hand. "Bet her bed-head is cute though." 

Varric smirked. "Yeah, but I don't dare tell her."

Melora watched him go, the flap of the tent Varric shared with Cassandra closing behind him. 

Quietly, Melora said, "He knows."

"Knows what?"

"Not everything, no details. But he's figured out far more than he should, about you and me, connecting dots he shouldn't have seen."

"Huh," Bull said. "Well, you worry about saving the world. I'll take care of Varric." Then he got up again, off to find the frying pan to cook breakfast, leaving Melora sitting by the fire. 

When he'd finished cooking, she wasn't hungry, worry sitting heavy as a stone in her belly.


End file.
